"I'm glad you came over tonight. Better to spend an evening as my sextoy than get turned over to the police for trying to forge a check in my name," he said as I entered his living room.
He sat on his couch in the dimly lit room - he was dressed in the same clothes as he had been wearing that day when he called me into his office and confronted me with my forged check, giving me the chance to take my punishment from him personally or be fired immediately and referred to the police. I figured I'd take my chances with him. After all, he was tall at 6'4," fairly handsome, in his early to mid-thirties, fit, clean-shaven. How bad could it be? I'd suck his cock, let him fuck me and that would be it. He was rather particular on what I wore over for the evening (panties, skirt, heels, a bra and a blouse that buttoned down the front), but this would all be over in half an hour.
"Let's get going," he said. He motioned me in front of him and I took his meaning. I kneeled in front of his spread legs, unzipped his fly and started to take out his cock. He brushed my hands away and took it out himself.
"It's those hands that got you into trouble in the first place, trying to forge a check. I want you to suck my cock, but don't put your hands on it - use only your mouth - and this better be up to my standards or the punishment phase of this evening is going to be worse for you than I originally planned"
Punishment phase? Wasn't it punishment enough to have to give him head? Oh well, it was out of my hands and I figured I'd best get started. He was already semi-hard and I quickly got him the rest of the way there with my expert ministrations. It was a pity I couldn't use my hands as I could have finished him off faster. His cock was bigger than usual; I judged it be about 7," maybe a little bit longer. It was also pretty thick, it must have been 2" wide and I was having a little bit of a gag reflex on those occasions when I tried to take him a little deeper.
After about ten minutes, I began to wonder when he was going to come. I'd been working him to the best of my ability and, although, he was rock-hard, he wasn't breathing hard or making any of the usual noises I was used to. His nutsack was still loose - no telltale tightness to let me know he was ready to unload.
"Look at me when you suck my dick" he intoned.
Oh...Now I get it, he's one of those guys that gets off when the girl acts like she's submissive. Well, if that's what he wants. I changed the angle of my head a little bit and looked up at him as I continued to work him over. He just looked at me steadily with a slight satisfied expression on his face. It was kind of embarrassing to be kneeling in front of my boss like this, ordered not to use my hands, gazing into his face while my mouth rocked back and forth on his 7" pole.
"Start taking your clothes off, but under no circumstances are you to take your mouth off my cock"
Jesus! Where does this guy get off ordering me around like this! I would have told him off, but I was unable to, my mouth being filled at the moment. However, he must not have liked my hesitation.
"Do what I tell you, or it's your job and the police. Don't give me any attitude"
At least now I understood why the strange clothing request. I unbuttoned my blouse, while continuing to mouth-stroke his cock and, reaching behind me, removed my arms from the blouse, discarding it on the floor. I had to reach behind me again to undo the zipper in the back of my skirt. It was a little tougher to remove my blouse while keeping his prick firmly buried inside my oral cavity. I had to shimmy it down my legs and under my knees one at a time. It got caught on one of my heels, but I eventually got it all the way off. He then motioned to my bra and I knew what came next. I reached behind me to undo the clasps and removed my bra from the front and placed it on the pile that also included my skirt and blouse. Incidentally, I'd counted fifteen head-bobs on his cock while engaged in that last operation. I reached down to my panties and started to slip them over my hips...
"Leave your panties and your heels on" he instructed.
I recommenced trying to get him off. Incidentally, his mention of my panties made me think of them as well. I was a little embarrassed to notice a warm, damp sensation between my legs. I didn't feel too bad - I mean it's inevitable that being involved in sexual activity would get me excited, but I didn't want him to know that. It seemed that I'd been at it for 20-30 minutes by now. What was with this guy? When was he going to shoot his load?
Suddenly, he gripped my hair again and pulled me up over his knees on the couch.
"Now we'll see if you can take a spanking as easily as you can steal from me" he intoned as he began to run his hands over my back, ass and upper thighs.
Suddenly, he began spanking my ass. This got my attention real quick as he obviously had big strong hands to go along with his big strong body. As he rained more and more blows upon my poor ass, I really began to regret the choice I made. Losing my job and copping to a misdemeanor may have been better than letting this guy live out his fantasy.
He stopped and rubbed the hurt out of my ass a little bit. At least he wasn't a total monster. Then I heard him reach for something on the end table where my legs were pointing and he began to buckle a pair of furred leather cuffs around my elbows. Then I felt my elbows pulled behind and together pretty tightly and heard a click. He must have connected the two cuffs together with a metal snap or something. All of a sudden there was a lot more tension in my arms and shoulders as my tits were thrust out.
"What's going on...?" I protested.
"Shut your mouth, you fucking bitch" he replied. "If I have to gag you, I will." He put another pair of leather cuffs around each wrist, although he didn't secure them to each other or anything else...
He then proceeded with another round of spankings on my ass and upper thighs, alternately rubbing me and spanking me. He also started running his hands down the crack of my ass, pressing against my mound, and, although I was protected at least somewhat by my panties, I was humiliated by the fact that it must now be abundantly clear to him that I was responding sexually to his ministrations as I could feel myself extremely wet.
He then began to roll my panties down my legs, eventually removing them completely. Here I was, after blowing him for a good half-hour, my reward was to be self-stripped, spanked, shackled and stripped the rest of the way by him. Now it looks like I was in for more spanking as he returned to his prior ministrations. Although no individual blows were all that painful, the cumulative sensation of the spanking was starting to really get to me mentally. I felt him running his left hand, his non-spanking hand down the cleft of my buttocks until it reached my warm, moist cunny. Of course, his hand became soaked in my own juices. But the bastard wasn't content to rub the mere fact that I was responding like a bitch in heat to his spanking, he took his juice-covered fingers and brought them around to my face, right in front of my mouth.
I could smell my pussy-juices on his fingers right in front of me and it was clear what he wanted. I opened my mouth and began to suck my own juices off of his fingers as he resumed his obsession with spanking my already reddened ass and thighs. Now, totally humiliated, I began to lose any sense of propriety and started to slowly grind against his lap. Maybe I could at least get a little bit of relief out of all of this. So, licking his fingers and grinding my hips against him I continued to suffer under his hand.
After he was satisfied with my clean-up job, he again took his left hand and ran it down to my pussy, rejuicing it - so to speak - but instead of bringing it back to me for another cleaning job, he smeared my own juices around my most private of openings. Uh-oh...this was starting to get really serious. After dipping into my honeypot four or five times and lubricating my brown eye, he slowly worked one of his fingers into my back door. After initially tensing up and resisting him I bowed to the inevitable and he was soon inserted to the second digit. Then, incredibly, he began to spank me again, but this time with his FINGER still up my ASS. He chuckled as I bucked against him, evidently self-satisfied as my ass involuntarily clenched and unclenched around his finger as he continued to administer his hateful punishment.
I had no secrets from him. I was wet, my elbows were fettered and useless to me, he was using his finger as an anal thermometer to gauge my response to his punishment. Last, and most humiliating, he wadded up my soaked panties and pushed them into my mouth to stifle my increasingly loud groans of pain and moans of pleasure.
Then, mercifully, it was all over. He pushed me again onto my knees in front of him and I kneeled looking into his eyes, tasting my pussy on the wadded panties inside my mouth.
He took a length of rope and secured it about my waist with the knot in back. He took the two trailing pieces, each about 36" long and looped them through my legs, and up in front of me. He then took one of my cuffed hands and stringed one of the rope pieces through the D-ring on the cuff, pulling it tight which pulled my hand and wrist down, around my back toward my belly. This simultaneously put even more pressure on my tits, f***ed out already by my cuffed elbows and tightened one of the two pieces of rope that were running through my pussy lips. He did the same with the other trailing piece of rope, securing it to my other wrist, making sure that both ropes bisected my pussy lips.
The bastard! Who the fuck did he think he was.
"Now - we're going to try sucking my cock again" I heard him say, with a little bit of menace. How could I suck his cock! Here I was trussed, shackled, spanked, gagged, with my wrists tied to a rope that was splitting my pussy in half. As I bent down slightly to try to get my mouth closer to his cock, I realized that bending down slightly stretched my pelvis, putting even more pressure and tension on the rope between my legs!
Doubtless, he knew this as, chuckling to himself, he removed my panties from my mouth, took hold of my hair and guided my mouth down to his now turgid and rampant cock. I quickly learned that this was not to be the leisurely blowjob I had previously administered. He used his grip in my hair to gradually, but inexorably, f***e my mouth lower and lower onto his cock until he was literally knocking at the entrance to my throat.
I had previously tried to deep-throat a few of my boyfriends, but had always been unable to do so. Tonight I learned that it wasn't that I was unable to do so, I had been unwilling to do so. I couldn't resist the strength of his grip on my hair, just like I couldn't resist the invasion of his finger in my ass earlier. Step by step, he f***ed his cock down my throat over the next 10 minutes, often leaving me impaled on his prick for ten seconds at a time, enjoying the natural gagging reaction as it stimulated his cock. I was utterly defeated and humiliated. This was made even worse by the fact that I could feel myself gently tugging with my hands, the ropes that were strung through my crotch. I was using his crotch rope to get myself off while he was throat-fucking me using his iron grip on my hair! Unbelievable.
Suddenly, my chin, buried against his balls during one of my extended sessions buried to the deepest extent possible on his cock, noticed a distinct tightening of his sack. Frantically, I began vigorously pulling on my crotch-rope in a desperate effort to get myself off before he came. I felt my own release wash over my body followed shortly thereafter by a warm, violent stream of liquid down my throat. As I looked up into his eyes, flush and sweating from my own orgasm just moments before, he smiled at me, triggering another flush of pleasure to course through me at having pleased him.
He left his cock in my mouth for several moments as I continued to suckle and clean it. He then lowered my to my stomach on the floor and put me into a quick hogtie, wrapping the rope around my ankles and using the heels of my shoes to closely secure my legs back to my elbows....
"Sit tight, while I go get the rest of my things" he said as he left the room. Yeah right, like I was going anywhere.
Shortly, he returned with a number of straps, which he placed on a table in the next room. He then undid my hogtie and let me stand up. Admittedly, I was weak-kneed after my recent ordeal, but I luxuriated in being able to stand on my long, beautiful legs after spending so much time recently either on my knees or over his knees.
After all, it wasn't an everyday occurrence for me to blow a guy for 30 minutes, get spanked for another 30 and then be used in the degrading manner by which he'd finally satiated himself.
He undid the crotch rope, used my panties to dry off all the moisture accumulated around my puss, placed those same damn panties right back in my mouth (this guy had a thing for keeping my mouth occupied!), secured my wrists behind me with another metal clasp and then undid the clasp joining my elbows together. That feels better. I sighed in relief into my panty gag as he led me over to the desk in his home office. It was a large desk, 72"x36" with a modesty panel in the back, cleared of all equipment.
He placed me on my back on the desk, undoing my wrist cuffs long enough to secure them with a longer piece of rope, still keeping me secure, but allowing my wrists to lie at my sides rather than in the small of my back. He used the straps that he'd gone to get earlier to strap my calves to my thighs, both at the ankle and the knee. Next, he took a long piece of rope, secured it to one of the D-rings on the strap binding my ankle to my thigh, ran it under the desk and over to the opposing D-ring binding my knee. He then ran a second rope under the desk securing the second pair of straps.
This bastard had me trussed tightly to his desk, calves tied against my thighs, my legs spread obscenely by the ropes spreading them. Each time I tried to pull one of my legs up from it's spread position, it just served to pull the other leg farther down. He was using my own body against me. My entire torso was exposed to him, including my breasts, inner thighs and pussy. The nature of my position also allowed him access to my little brown eye that he had so humiliatingly used earlier to enf***e his control over me.
He looked down at me again with one of his self-satisfied smirks and began exploring my body with his hands. They were rough hands and I could feel them sc**** along my smooth skin. As he ran them over my breasts and down my flanks, across my thighs and my puss, I shuddered involuntarily. After my recent orgasm from the crotch-ropes, my body was on fire and I couldn't help but respond to his touches even in my helpless condition. Almost worse, I didn't want him to stop. Abused and humiliated, I was turned on as well.
He refocused his attention on my breasts, taking one nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He worked it softly at first, but gradually harder until he was squeezing the nipple enough to cause me some pain. Then he began to twist it...and a bolt of fire ran straight from my nipple to my pussy. I couldn't help myself. I arched my back, trying to relieve some of the pressure he was putting on it, but subconsciously responding to his manipulation. He responded by grabbing the other nipple in his other hand, using his grip on both of my nipples to f***e me to arch my back even further toward him. It was hard to distinguish the pain from the pleasure, but I could feel another flush of moisture flood through my cunt as he continued to manipulate my nipples between his incredibly strong fingers.
Then he let go of one nipple and used that hand to cover my cunt, gently rubbing it while continuing to twist and pull my other nipple.
I was surprised that my response was so f***eful and immediate. I was glad to have my panties still stuffed in my mouth to muffle the noises I was making. It was just too much to have this guy hurting and twisting my nipples, while I was tied and at his mercy and coming at the slightest manipulation of my pussy!
He then switched nipples and began torturing the other one between his fingers, while continuing to rub my pussy with his other hand.
I came again!
I couldn't decide whether I was in heaven or hell. I wanted the pain in my breasts to stop, but I wanted to keep coming and I couldn't have both. I began to whimper through my panties. He got me off twice more in the space of the next few minutes and then gave me some respite, massaging my entire breasts now with his two big hands.
Suddenly, I heard a small click and I looked at him quickly. A frisson of terror raced down my spine as I saw that he had undone his belt buckle and was sliding his belt out of the loops on his pants. He doubled the belt over and laid it down on my tummy, slowly sliding the leather across my torso, my breasts, back down across my tummy, along my thighs.
I looked into his eyes and saw the answer there to my unasked question. He was going to strap me with his belt.
"You're going to learn not to steal from me again!" he said.
I shuddered in dread. He continued to slide his belt along my body, increasing my anticipation and dread as the seconds marched by. Then it started. He didn't strap me very hard, I'm sure, but it was hard enough...and all over. He didn't spare any part of my exposed body.
He strapped my tummy, my flanks, my thighs, my breasts, even between my legs. I bit down on my panties and could do nothing but endure. However, the human body is a wondrous organism. As he continued to strap me, even though it hurt, my body adjusted itself to the pain. Yes, it even responded, in a way. As the strapping progressed on all of my parts, it steadily got stricter and heavier. But he never let me get accustomed or comfortable. He kept moving randomly from place to place, varying the intensity of his stroke, never letting me anticipate what was coming next, to get into a groove.
With a f***eful stroke, he strapped my breasts repeatedly, while with his other hand, rubbing my pussy.
He stopped. He came around the side of the desk, laying his belt on my tummy. He unzipped his pants again, pulled out his cock, removed my soaked panties from my mouth. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head over to the side of the desk, with his other hand guiding his cock into my mouth.
Without hesitation, I accepted him and began vigorously stroking and sucking on him. I was on fire. Anything I could do to repay some small measure of what he'd just done to me was imperative.
He picked up his belt again. My mouth trembled around his cock. Was he actually going to whip me with his belt while I was giving him head. That was impossible.
"If I feel any discomfort after I start strapping you, you're going to be in real trouble"
And with that, I knew. He was going to strap me while I serviced him.
It began again. I found it hard to concentrate on giving him good head while my thighs, tummy, breasts and pussy were alternately strapped, rubbed, pinched and generally worked over. But I gave it my best. It felt good to be able to service my boss after all that had happened. In a sense, I felt content. I had tried to steal from him and now I was paying for it. Whatever he wanted to do at this point, was okay with me.
Suddenly, the strapping stopped again. He let me suck his cock for a few more minutes as I recovered from the kiss of his belt across my body. He opened up a desk drawer and removed two black binder clips. With a smile down at me, my face stuffed with his cock, he applied them quickly to both of my nipples. Fire arced through my tits, down to my pussy. He smiled and continued to slide his cock in and out of my mouth.
As the pain started to become unbearable, he removed his cock from my mouth, went down to the end of the desk and laid his turgid, rampant cock on top of my mound.
Then I was ashamed. I was ashamed at the noises coming from my mouth...the juices running from my cunt...the arch of my back underneath my clamped nipples...and the feeble efforts I made, despite my bound state to move my pussy against his cock. I was there, in the present. I needed him more than I'd needed anything else at that point.
He inserted himself, stroked me five or six times and I came.
He withdrew, brought himself around the side of the table, slid his cock in my mouth and I cleaned him...and sucked him.
He put his cock in my pussy again. I came again. I licked my juices clean from his cock again. I sucked him again. Again....Again....AGAIN!
How long this went on, I don't know. I lost count after five orgasms and five cleanings.
Finally, he came. I cleaned him one last time, this time his spunk in addition to my own cunt juice. I was careful to swallow everything. He removed the clamps, undid the bindings on my legs, removed my hands from their cuffs. He gestured with his hand in my hair and a hand pointing at the desk. I bent over and licked up the moisture that had leaked onto his desk from my pussy during the ordeal. He carried me back to the couch. I lay there in exhaustion.
As he put away his things, I recovered myself and put my clothes back on.
"Come back next week. I intend to continue your punishment at that time," he intoned.
"Yes, Mr. B." I replied.
I approached Mr. B.'s door with trepidation for my second night of punishment, taking place a week after my first night, for forging a company check. The past week had been a difficult one for me. My nipples ached horribly from those hellish binder clips on Thursday and were very tender to the touch throughout the weekend. I dreaded him spending more time torturing my body tonight, but I especially couldn't bear the thought of him hurting my poor nipples again. The spanking wasn't that bad and the strapping with his belt, although humiliating and painful, was at least bearable, but my poor nips – I couldn't bear the thought of him abusing them again.
I thought real hard about approaching him and telling him it was a no-go, that I was done. Even if he fired me, I didn't think he'd call the police – after all, I'd just tell them about what he did to me and then he should be in trouble as well. But I was so humiliated and shocked from the experience that I couldn't bring myself to even look at him for the rest of the week. And of course, stupidly, by Monday, my body was feeling better and my memories of the pain began to fade some, albeit not by much. But it all came rushing back to me as I walked up to his door. What would he do to me tonight?
Of course I couldn't totally discount my body's powerful reaction to his sadistic and totally uncalled for punishment last week as a reason why I didn't ultimately confront him and tell him no more. Could I not be telling him to go fuck himself because I'd had so many powerful orgasms during that night? I didn't really feel bad about it. After all, when you're involved in blatantly sexual activity, you're bound to become aroused. And all the crap that he did to me, although painful, was also very sexual in nature. I didn't think that was the reason for my failure to put a stop to it, but in the back of my mind it bothered me a little bit.
He opened the door and let me in.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
I mumbled something and he turned and headed back to the couch, the scene of the first phase of my previous week's 'punishment'. I took my clothes off, but left my panties and heels on at his command – another night of wearing my panties in my mouth, I guess.
"Do a better job and you can at least avoid a spanking this week" he said. I took from his expression, position and demeanor that he wanted me to repeat my blowjob from last week. This guy really had a thing for oral devotion, typical male jerk – it's always about them, isn't it. Well, I decided to take him at his word and had learned some of his preferences last week. I'd be damned if I would give him the satisfaction of spanking me again.
I was not inexperienced in the art of the blowjob and I was a little surprised that my first efforts last week hadn't resulted in an orgasm from him. After he'd spanked me and tied my elbows and wrists in that crotch-rope combo, the way he'd utterly used and controlled my movements gave me at least somewhat of an idea of what would get him off quicker.
As I engulfed his cock in my mouth I was determined to take control of the situation. He again gestured my hands away from his cock and so, my hands on his thighs, I got to work. I really concentrated on working him to the best of my ability, based on what I'd learned seven days ago. Although he was long and thick, he wasn't obscenely so and I could really get quite a bit of him inside my mouth.
As I got him super hard, I began go down on him farther and farther. As I bottomed out, I held him in my mouth for 10 to 15 seconds at a time. I could feel the bl**d pulsing through the veins of his cock as I held it deep inside me. I could have told you his pulse rate. As I held it there for those long periods, he would flex his cock once or twice each time, holding the flex. Wow! As he flexed, I could feel it grow slightly bigger and longer all around as that flexing motion pumped even more bl**d, temporarily, into his shaft.
As I continued to service him in this manner, I became acutely aware of his overpowering male presence. It was a combination, I think, of his male body odor, not offensive, just different from that of women, his very large physical stature (the guy was 6'4" after all) and my extremely close association with his male parts. It was mildly intoxicating, to a certain extent, and as I continued to work his cock deeply in and out of my mouth and front of my throat I was drawn deeply into this act of giving him a blow job by that maleness, which he exuded.
Also, to my chagrin, I felt my body issue forth the first signs of its betrayal to me. I began to develop a slightly warm feeling in my tummy, I felt my nipples harden as they were exposed to the air in the room and my pussy began to moisten just a fraction.
I made sure to keep looking up at him as many times as possible during this blowjob. I knew he got off on submissiveness as well as inflicting pain. If I could avoid the pain, by giving him the submissiveness that he wanted, all the better for me. I never held his gaze too long or too boldly, but just kept glancing up to him to let him know that I knew that he was in charge and I was here for his pleasure.
"I'm your cockslut for the evening. I'm sucking you the way you want to be sucked, Mr. B., not the way I want to suck you. I like your cock in my mouth. I want your cock in my mouth. Please let me keep sucking your cock, Mr. B." All this, I tried to communicate with my eyes as I couldn't do so with my speech. I used my eyes to turn him on, to get him off.
But I was failing. The bastard was inhuman. Although it was clear he was turned on, (nobody with a cock that hard could not be enjoying himself), it didn't seem I was getting any closer to getting him off. I knew there was a time limit to this situation. He'd given me 20 or 30 minutes last week before taking matters 'under his hand' so to speak. I felt that my time was getting close.
As I glanced at him, I got very little indication of his mood. He returned my gaze at times. He concentrated on looking at the action of my mouth swallowing his engorged member at other times. Sometimes, he ran his hands through my hair or over my shoulders, with the slightest of gestures, letting me know to stay impaled on him for a little longer or to come up for air now. I always obeyed these gestures, but I wasn't getting substantially closer to my goal.
I made a Herculean effort to get him all the way in. Maybe my throat convulsing around his tool would do the trick. But my efforts didn't bear fruit. Although I took him deeper than I'd ever gone before on him or anyone else (with the exception of his brutal oral **** last week when he simply overpowered me!) I wasn't able to go all the way. But the efforts were very taxing physically and I could feel tears forming at the corners of my eyes from my efforts. I was on the verge of being humiliated for the first time tonight.
First, I wanted to avoid the humiliation of getting spanked. It made me feel like such a little girl to be bent over his knee, like he was my daddy or something.
But the second humiliation, almost worse, was the knowledge that all my efforts as a woman to please him, to 'serve' him, to blow him like he wanted, weren't enough. After I'd given him my best, the bastard wouldn't even throw me a bone. He would take my best and cruelly spank me anyway. This, combined with my physical efforts that were making my teary, made the waterworks really begin to flow. As I sucked him, the tears started to roll down my cheeks. He noticed, of course and smiled in what seemed to me a satisfied manner. Fucking bastard! I was defeated.
And then he rubbed it in. He let me keep going on his motherfucking, impossible-to-please dick, let me keep sucking it even though he and I both knew that I'd be spanked anyway, that all my efforts would go for naught. I didn't have any choice. So, crying, humiliated and making whimpering, blubbering noises around his cock, I continued to do my best, for the next half-hour, to worship his cock with my mouth, to be his cockslave.
"Are you ready for your spanking?" he finally asked.
NO! I want to go home! Fire me, you bastard. I never want to see you again. This is what I thought, but what I did was simply look at him, mouth still ensconced around his rock-hard member, and nodded slightly. With his hand firmly gripping my hair, he directed me over his lap and I buried my head in the cushions in exhaustion and shame.
His hands roamed around my back, ass and legs, just like last week. Again, he started slow, but quickly increased the intensity of his spanking, not letting me get comfortable at any point. I was a little bit more used to the sensation now and had a better idea of what to expect, but it didn't help me that much. As he spanked my upper thighs and ass I began to squirm ever so slightly underneath him. It was only a matter of time before I'd lose my pride here as well. My panties were soon soaked by my own secretions as he, at odd times, paused his spanking to press them against my overheated cunt. Eventually, inevitably, he sneaked his fingers under my panties and sampled my overheated pussy. Withdrawing them, soaked of course, he had me lick them clean.
Eventually, I lost my panties as the spanking continued. I got reacquainted with the taste and smell of my own pussy as he placed them in my already used and tired mouth. As I broke down under his punishment and began using my hands and arms to protect myself from his brutal right hand, he reattached the furred leather cuffs to my elbows and wrists.
But this time, instead of attaching my elbows cuffs together, he used a metal clasp of some kind to hook one wrist to the opposite elbow and the other wrist to its opposite elbow. This effectively removed my hands from being able to protect myself and created a big U – my upper arms creating the legs of the U and my two forearms creating the base of the U – each wrist cuff attached to the opposing elbow cuff. He was creative; I'll give him that.
My ass punishment continued. The heat continued to rise in my body. Shamelessly, I ground my pussy against his pants, seeking any kind of relief from the torture he was inflicting. I felt his cock there, big, looming, but of course not in a position to satisfy me. He reinf***ed my helpless responses to his ministrations by continuing to run his fingers down through my crease and confirming my high state of arousal. He would often insert one or two fingers of his left hand into my most private hole, as he had done last week and revel in the clenching of my ass around his digits. My reactions were involuntary, but extremely degrading at the same time. He was obviously deriving pleasure from my predicament and suffering and used his constant probing of my crease to remind me that I was dripping moisture in response to his cruelty.
Then it was over.
Again, I was on my knees. Again, my mouth was around his cock, but this time on his terms, not my own. Again, I lost the struggle against his hands and was f***ed by his unconquerable strength, slowly but surely, straight down onto his member until my nose kissed his pelvis and was made to stay there, obscenely, as he flexed his long muscle time and time again in my throat, humiliating and degrading me to the utter depths, letting me up long just long enough to desperately suck in more air before I was plunged back onto his spear. He used my mouth and throat as a fucktoy to please him until he found his release, with no regard for me. Whether it was five minutes or fifteen minutes, I didn't know. I was locked in the present, unable to concentrate on time, on myself, on anything except his prick. His cock, rampant, turgid, a steel rod impaling my mouth, finally exploded at its deepest point possible inside me. The swelling of his cock at its release was both thrilling and humiliating at the same time. The humiliation was obvious. But I don't know if I was thrilled because this part of my ordeal, at least, was over or because he had come inside me, because at last I was good enough for him! I was too tired to think about it, but the continuing warmth in my tummy was telling and it confused me.
Typical male asshole (of course), he pulled back to finish his orgasm in my mouth, making me taste the last couple spurts of his jism. Dutifully, I swallowed it as I had the first spurts and was f***ed to lick him clean as he came down from his orgasm. I was beginning to think of his dick as separate from him – as my enemy. After all, I hadn't been able to make it cum and he had punished me for it. That dick humiliated me, hurt my mouth and throat and, through lack of making it come, caused him to spank me. It was too much.
Throughout this whole episode however, unlike last week, I didn't have the crotch rope that he allowed me in our previous session to obtain my own relief. My hands, cuffed to my wrists behind me, were useless to me throughout this ordeal. The pain that I had experienced was not balanced by the brief moments of pleasure I experienced last week. There had been intense arousement, but not release. I was frustrated.
As I lay on my back in exhaustion, physically, mentally, and morally – I tried to compose myself for the proceedings to come.
Within a couple of minutes, he laid me on my back in the same office as last week, on the same desk. He had placed a thickly padded goose feather quilt on the desk, which I was grateful for, as he had left my hands secured behind me in that U position. Again, he secured my ankles to my thighs and tied my legs apart so that I was open obscenely to him and extremely vulnerable, my legs being used against me to keep themselves spread open to him.
My breasts were exposed, as well as my flanks, my tummy, my inner thighs, and my pussy. That familiar feeling of helplessness and dread welled up inside me as he began to run his rough hands over my body.
As he squeezed, kneaded and otherwise manhandled my breasts, I couldn't help myself.
"Please don't hurt my tits again," I begged. "Please, you can do anything else, but please don't put those things back on my nipples. They hurt so much, I can't stand it. Please, Mr. B."
"Be quiet, you fucking thief. If you hadn't tried to steal from me, you wouldn't be in this position"
With that, obviously displeased with my outburst, he again took my panties, having put them in his pocket in the other room, and popped them right back into my mouth. Unlike every other time that he'd gagged me with that damned article of clothing, this time he withdrew a wide roll of tape from his desk drawer and taped my mouth shut over my panties! Now, with my panties partly in my mouth and partly hanging out, but taped against my cheeks and chin, I was unable to communicate anything intelligible to him. The fucking bastard! This 'gag' didn't even muffle much noise, it was just all designed to humiliate me even more. I'd begged him not to hurt my tits again after sucking him for at least 45 minutes, getting spanked mercilessly for my trouble and then deep throating him, under his absolute control, for another unknown period of time. The bastard obviously just got off on seeing my own panties inside my mouth!
Silencing my speech, if not the pleading noises emanating from my vocal chords, he recommenced rubbing, exploring, pinching and otherwise manhandling my entire torso, cleft and thighs. After what he'd already done to me during the past hour or so, this sent my body, if not my mind, right back to the height of arousal.
He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a black stick with a thong at one end and a flap of leather at the other end. It looked exactly like a riding crop that I'd seen before in various pictures or on television connected with horse riding. It looked like that would replace his punishment tool of choice from last week, his belt.
He inserted his hand into the thong and ran the flap of leather all across me. I could feel goose pimples rise up on my skin in a sympathetic reaction to the cropping that it was about to receive. Like last week with the strapping and earlier that night with the spanking, he didn't start off too intensely. Why, I'm not sure. He seemed to have no compunction about causing me intolerable pain either last week or today. Maybe he was just unsure of his own strength and was starting out slowly to make sure he didn't kill me – although that would serve him right – to kill me and then go to jail to be beaten and ****d by a bunch of male prisoners! Unfortunately, that would also be bad news for me.
However, just like his spankings and his strappings, he didn't let me get accustomed to it. He kept increasing the intensity and was always random where he struck me next. Every time he cropped the flesh of my breasts, I winced in pain. Every time he cropped one of my thighs, it would cause that leg to jerk, which, through being tied to the other leg, caused that one to react oppositely. He was playing my body like a fiddle.
Suddenly, he struck me right on my left nipple. A sharp bolt of pain arced through my breast to my tummy. I cried out in anguish. Of course, he repeated this hellish maneuver on my right nipple and got the same reaction. He then resumed my general punishment, but from that point forward he returned often to my nipples, beating their tender flesh and keeping me in agony.
He began also to work dangerously close to my poor cunny. I wasn't even mad at myself for shamelessly being wet down there. Sure, I'd been completely used to this point and I was dumbstruck that even as he continued to punish me with his riding crop, I continued to leak moisture from my pussy. I didn't really understand it, but I accepted that my body was responding to this sexually charged punishment. Regardless, as he cropped me on my pelvis and at the junction of my legs to my crotch, I prepared myself for the inevitable blows that would land straight on my mound.
It came after another quick succession of blows to my nipples. As the crop connected with my mound, my whole body simultaneously convulsed in pain and agony. As I fought through that, I recognized that I also convulsed in ecstasy as well. He slapped the leather into my pussy again and I realized that eventually, if he kept doing that, I'd cum.
He was using my pussy against me this week like he'd used my nipples against me last week. I remembered back to last week when, as he was pinching my nipples cruelly between his thumb and forefinger, he rubbed my pussy at the same time, forcing me to come while being tortured. I hadn't orgasmed yet, but if he kept cropping my pussy as he was doing now, it was inevitable. Of course, I didn't want to be cropped anymore, but I was supremely frustrated sexually as well. I wanted to come. And the only way to come, at the present time, since he wasn't fucking me and he wasn't rubbing my pussy with his hand, was to come from the kiss of the crop to my cunt.
Here I was, having serviced him, then been spanked, dominated, humiliated, throat fucked, tied down, spread open, manhandled, cropped – and after all this I was aching for that crop so that I could cum! The dichotomy was just too much. But he wouldn't give even that to me! He seemed to be concentrating solely now on my two nipples and my pussy, alternately striking each of them in turn or multiple times. But I needed constant attention to my pussy in order to build enough heat to get over the precipice. The crop landing on my breasts was painful and arousing at the same time, but it couldn't generate enough heat to satisfy my cunt.
Then he struck my pussy several times (3 or 4 at least) very hard with the last one up high enough to make contact with my clit as well!
I came explosively!
My back arched. Strange, inarticulate noises came out of my muffled, panties-stuffed mouth. My thighs flexed. My pussy reached up as far as it could to accept the next and final kiss of the leather which exploded in my mound, in my breasts and in my mind so that I saw bright stars on the insides of my tightly closed eyelids.
It was over. I heard him open his desk drawer again and I shuddered in fear at what he would do to me next. He pulled out a couple of what looked to be miniature metal C-clamps, like you would buy at a hardware store. They had a fixed metal end (the top of the C) and then a post that screwed through a housing to shorten or lengthen the distance between the fixed end of the clamp and the adjustable post (the bottom of the C). He laid the two clamps in the space between my breasts as he pulled up a chair and sat down to my side. The coolness of the metal was a pleasant change, but offset by my sense of dread at what he would do with these new things.
I tried to speak to him through my panties and through the tape. I tried to beg him not to do anymore to me, to let me go, to fire me, to turn me into the cops. I didn't think I could survive any more. He ignored me though. The noise I was making must have been similar to the rest of the gibberish I'd been communicating through my 'gag' because he didn't even look at me before lowering his mouth to my right nipple and gently licking and sucking it with his tongue.
This caused incredible feelings to course through me. My nipples, at present, were soft. They'd briefly been f***ed into hard little buttons during my orgasm, but now they'd reverted to their natural state. As he continued to lick and suckle my right nipple, however, it hardened into its aroused state and the tenderness of his ministrations felt so good that I felt myself sighing inwardly, losing myself in the feeling of his gentle tongue.
As he continued to suckle and caress it, he picked up one of the C-clamps and twirled the post until there was about a ½ inch gap between the fixed end and the post. He then lifted his head from my nipple and positioned it inside the gap. He twirled the post until I felt the metal kiss and then close around my erect nipple. He twirled the post two more full revolutions until my nipple was firmly trapped inside the metal. He had positioned the clamp vertically so that the post was below my nipple and the fixed metal end (the top of the C) was above it.
He then moved the chair around to the other side of the desk and repeated the entire process. Again I felt his wonderful tongue soothe, caress and then harden my left nipple. Again, he picked up the second clamp from between my breasts and affixed it on my now hardened nipple in the same fashion as the first.
I lay there, tied, having cum under the kiss of his crop, now looking up into his face, my nipples captured in these strange miniature devices from Home Depot (or some other hardware store that this sicko frequented). He looked into my eyes, at the same time reaching into the fly of his pants and extricating his recently fellated cock. He stroked it in his hands a couple of times, bringing it to an almost full hardness. I couldn't help glancing at that enemy of mine as it grew in his right hand.
He moved down around the desk to the cleft between my legs and inserted his prick deeply into my wet, trembling crevice. He began to stroke me and I could immediately feel the heat begin to rise in my belly and spread throughout my whole body. This is what I needed, what I deserved after my harsh treatment.
I welcomed the wave of orgasm as it washed through me and my cunt shuddered and clamped around his cock.
He withdrew his cock from my cunt, just as he had done last week. At that time, he had f***ed me to clean his cock with my mouth after every orgasm until he had blown his wad. This was good – I'd get these damn panties out of my mouth and put an end to this farce – or at least get a little moisture back into my mouth. I was extremely dry and thirsty and relished the thought of having something besides these cotton underwear in my mouth so I could generate a little bit of spit.
But instead of moving to untape my mouth, he simply leaned over and adjusted the C-clamps, tightening each clamp by a half of a turn. Of course, this put more pressure on each of my nipples. I hadn't really felt them before, as there was no bite to these clamps, not like last week, just a steady pressure. And he had only tightened them enough to capture my nips firmly. Now they were noticeably tighter and my breasts tingled from the pressure.
He slid himself into me again and quickly stroked me, within three or four minutes, to another orgasm. As the pleasure washed through me, he pulled himself out and tightened the clamps another little bit. Now the clamps were truly causing some pain in my poor tits. Again, he began to fuck me. A sudden stab of fear shot through my mind. If he tightened those clamps every time I had an orgasm, pretty soon they were going to be unbelievably tight and hurt like hell. I had horrible visions of my poor rosebuds bursting from the intense pressure.
The only thing I could think to do was to not have another orgasm. This fucking bastard was using my body against me again. He was basically telling me that every time I came, I would get my tits clamped tighter and tighter. It was a Faustian bargain. The more I came, the more cruelly I would be tortured.
But resisting my orgasms was easier said than done. That cock of his, even though I hated it, was pretty thick and pretty long. It really did a fairly good job of stuffing me and, in my aroused state, it was impossible to ignore the sensation it caused as it slid greasily back and forth in my moisture-filled slot.
Normally, it had been my experience that if I was being fucked well by my lover, if he had spent enough time in foreplay, then, if I was in the right frame of mind, I could come. But if I wasn't in the right frame of mind, or didn't want to summon the energy to concentrate on getting to my orgasm, or if I really wasn't into the sex, I could avoid one. In a sense, I could always control my own orgasm. But tonight and last week, although I had tried to suppress my orgasms, they really were not under my control under these intense conditions and sensations I had been subjected to. I found myself unable to deny the sensations welling up within my belly and my cunt.
As I climbed the inevitable ladder to my third orgasm, still clamped with those horrid little implements, I stiffened my body to resist it. As the orgasm washed over me, though, Mr. K kept fucking me. What happened? He must not have noticed it! This gave me new hope. I could orgasm as much as I wanted, I just couldn't let him know that I had! I felt a new one building in intensity quickly and rode the wave through that one as well. This was heaven!
The third one got me though. He must have sensed something was up because suddenly he pulled out and slapped my face. He had never done that before and it completely shocked me, humiliating me once again. I could feel the sting in my cheek as he waggled his index finger at me and proceeded to tighten the clamps by a half turn, making up, in his mind, I guess, for my earlier deception. I felt the excruciating sensations in my breasts as he turned the handle of those two C-clamps slowly, one by one. My nipples were being flattened like a pancake!
The pain from my nipples was now uppermost in my mind. The steady, intense pressure from the C-clamps was like a hot nail driven through my poor rosebuds that wouldn't go away. And even worse, from my standpoint, I knew that the pain from the clamps could and probably would get worse as he continued to fuck me and I continued to orgasm. At least with those binder clips last week, the pain was terrible and intense, but it was what it was. It was all there immediately. There was not the dread promise of more pain in the future from the binder clips – but there was in these C-clamps that were currently smashing the life out of my tits.
All of this combined to overwhelm the natural, ongoing arousal in my pussy as he started fucking me again. We went on like this for several minutes – me concentrating on the pain in my nipples, him enjoying himself in my pussy with a writhing, moaning woman beneath him, totally in his power, totally subjugated, unable to speak, unable to beg, just able to moan and cry and whimper.
I gave in to the situation and let my mind float above the pain and the pleasure. After all, there was nothing I could do. I was tied, unable to move, unable to use my voice to plead. My mind consisted of three points – the intense pressure on my left nipple, the intense pressure on my right nipple and the big cock sawing back and forth in my pussy. The three sensations combined, in my state, to take me to a plateau where I wasn't cumming, but I wasn't not cumming – I was just there, in the present, beyond orgasm, in an area of intense feeling and heightened awareness.
Suddenly, a white hot flash of pain struck my right nipple. My eyes flew open and I saw the crop descending a second time on my left nipple as another flash of liquid fire ran through my body, erupting in my belly, behind my pussy as I spasmed under his cock in uncontrollable orgasm.
He spoke then.
"I am trying to punish you for stealing from me. But it's becoming clear to me that all of this has been a waste of time. You keep having orgasms no matter what I do. You keep enjoying all of this. You must be some kind of a painslut," he said. "What do I have to do to inflict real punishment on you for stealing? What is it that you will not enjoy? What can I do that will teach you a real lesson?"
My brain could not make sense of what he had just uttered. Was he trying to say that I wasn't being punished, that what he had done to me, constituted, in his mind, as enjoyment for me? What fucking planet was this moron from? Could he really be that stupid.
I was unable to respond to the patent lunacy of his statement, since I was gagged. Could I help that my body was physiologically responding to his sexual torture? Did he think I would volunteer for this? Did he think that I would proactively seek out someone to do this to me? This guy was certifiable. Maybe it was better that I was gagged. I was speechless.
I looked at him in disbelief as, this time, still with his cock seated deep in my pussy, he reached down and tightened the clamps one more time. As the additional, incremental pain registered in my tits, connected by a whip-like steel wire of nerves to my pussy, I began a long, continuous, muffled scream of agony, ecstasy, despair, submission and terror as he again raised the crop to strike my clamped nipples. As if in slow motion, still fucking me, I saw him bring the crop onto my clamped right nipple.
He raised the crop and I saw it descend again on my left nipple, with even more f***e.
I came again.
I felt his cock grow suddenly in my pussy and a stream of hot fluid scalded the inside of my tormented cunt.
My whole body, as well as my being, sagged in relief. Even as I came down from the spasms of my own third, immediate orgasm triggered by the release of his cock inside of me, I consoled myself that it was over. He had sated himself, finally, within me. It was over.
I lay unmoving as he untied my legs. I said nothing as he removed the tape from my cheeks and chin and removed my panties from my mouth. What was there to say? I lay absolutely still as he twirled the post of the two C-clamps in the opposite direction, releasing my nipples from the torture of their bite. As the bl**d rushed back into my nips, fresh pain washed through my breasts. I wanted to cover them with my hands, console them. But they were still locked behind me in the U bondage.
He picked me up in his arms and carried me to the couch, laying me down. I turned my body towards the back of the couch, curling my knees up in front of me, burying my face in the cushions. He walked back into the office, presumably to clean up. I must have drifted into a light sl**p.
When I woke up, my hands and elbows had been released from their U-bondage. As I became aware of my surroundings, I noticed Mr. B. on the other side of the couch. He was dressed in a bathrobe and the TV was on. I think it was SportsCenter. This was the most undressed I had seen him. Up until now, he had simply unzipped his fly when he'd wanted to fuck my pussy or my mouth. He had a drink in his hand.
When he saw me stirring, he grabbed a tall glass from the end table on his side of the couch and gave it me. I gulped the ice water down greedily and looked at him.
"I guess I should leave?" I asked, as if needing his permission to leave.
"I'm still excited and aroused from this evening's activities" he replied. "Why don't you work me with your mouth a little bit before you leave"
What could I do? I considered refusing, but his tone didn't carry the threat of additional punishment – I figured it was just best to humor him and get out of here as soon as I could. I had to get away. I had to think. So I crawled over in front of him, parted his bathrobe and immediately began the familiar duty of servicing his cock. As I gave him this blowjob, he continued to watch the sports news. He didn't seem to mind as I made tentative movements with my hands toward his shaft. I guess this was not 'punishment' time in his eyes.
As I continued to suckle and service him with my mouth, he grew alternately rock-hard and softened up slightly. At odd times, I would lick and mouth his balls – he didn't seem to mind and gave me freedom in servicing him. Once, I tried to lick a little farther below his balls as some of my lovers had enjoyed that kind of play. With a gentle gesture in my hair, he directed me back to his shaft. This man didn't go in for anything but pleasure to his cock - that seemed evident. Once even, he stopped me briefly and had me pour him another drink in the other room, a gin and tonic. I sneaked a taste of it before bringing it back to him and recommencing my oral service.
Sooner than I expected, I felt his balls tense up in anticipation of their release. This was odd because I had been unable to make him cum earlier tonight when I was trying much harder. Was it the state of his arousal now compared to earlier tonight? I didn't think so as he obviously got off on hurting me and humiliating me.
It may be that he had almost perfect control over his dick. Maybe he was highly aroused earlier tonight, but was holding back his orgasm because he wanted to punish me, to degrade me, to humiliate me. He may have used his offer of lenience in spanking me if I could make him cum as a way to further control and punish me, knowing that I would try desperately to get him off, but that I would still fail. Now, we were done with that and he had no need to hold back and so allowed his orgasm to come of its own accord under my attentive oral servitude.
I don't know why, but this made me feel better, for some reason. It wasn't that I couldn't get him off earlier; it was that I couldn't get him off if he didn't WANT to get off. He was just in much greater control of his cock than any other man I'd known.
Despite myself, I eagerly anticipated tasting his semen, proving to myself that I was a good enough cocksucker to make him come for a third time in one night. I waited anxiously, sucking him, caressing his balls with my hand until his cock expanded again within my mouth and I felt his hot jism spray into me. There wasn't much there, obviously, because of the circumstances. But I eagerly milked his cock to get every last drop as a warm feeling flushed through me.
"You can go now," he said. "I'll see you back here next week to see if we can solve this punishment issue."
I considered telling him that I wouldn't be coming back, to confront the issue here and now. But I was too drained physically and emotionally to engage with him right now. Time enough for that tomorrow or Friday or sometime next week. I dressed myself and left promising myself that this was the last time I'd subject myself to this crap.
I could hardly believe I was walking back up to Mr. B.'s door. I was terrified, unsure and excited at the same time. My mind flashed back over the events of the last week.
I had woken on Thursday morning with my whole body, but particularly my breasts and especially my nipples excruciatingly sore from the combined torture of the C-clamps and the riding crop that my boss had used against me the previous night. The glory of my multiple and seemingly continuous orgasms had faded and I was left with just a dull overall ache in all of my sexually-oriented body parts, including my inner thighs, my pussy and my ass.
I had stumbled through that Thursday at work. But Friday morning, I had screwed up my courage and confronted my tyrant of a boss in his office. The conversation did not go as expected.
"I'm not coming to your house again," I'd stated.
"Why not?" he'd asked. "You don't need this job anymore?"
I explained to him that there was no end in sight and that I couldn't take the punishment anymore. Further, I was afraid he would permanently damage me and no job was worth that. I also explained that he was dead wrong about my enjoying being spanked, strapped, clamped and cropped and sucking his dick and all the rest of it. I hated being in that position.
"Then why did you keep having orgasms?" he'd shot back at me.
I couldn't explain that, but he didn't understand that while my body could be helpless in its reactions to his sadistic torture, that didn't mean I enjoyed it – just the opposite. And that, more than anything else, was why I wasn't coming back to his house.
"I understand your point of view and am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt in explaining yourself," he responded. "In fact, I've given some thought to this myself and have determined that one further night of punishment will suffice, from my point of view, in putting paid to your attempted thievery from my company and, more importantly, from me. Be at my house next Wednesday for a final punishment session and we'll put this behind us."
"No," I replied. "I won't do it again."
"I'm sorry to hear that," he replied. "You can continue in your employ through next Wednesday. I'll have your final check prepared for you Thursday morning if I don't see you Wednesday night."
And with that, the meeting had ended. I had been in turmoil the rest of that day leading into my weekend. I thought that I could bluff my way through, but he had called me on it. At least he'd definitely indicated that only one further session was left, but I couldn't bear, in my current condition, to even think about going through it.
Desperate for something to take my mind off my predicament, I had called my ex to meet me that night for dinner. I needed some kind of normal companionship. As the night wore on, I decided to go back to his place. I knew that I needed to reconnect and have something normal to keep my feet on the ground, to reassure myself about my decision to quit rather than endure another night of torture.
Remembering back to that night, as I stood in front of Mr. B.'s door, I remembered making love to my ex. Although sex with him was just like it had always been and I had even orgasmed under the tender ministrations of my ex, I noticed that something was not there. The intensity of the feeling was not there. I came, but my entire body was not on fire as it had been under Mr. B.'s cruel touch. The orgasm was weak and tepid compared to what I had experienced the last two weeks. This had sent a minor panic attack through me.
I had seen my ex again the following evening, desperate to see if this continued, and it had. He was a good lover, the sex was not what had broken them up – but there was a hole now in that sex. Had this torture that I'd gone through ruined me for normal sex? Would I have to put myself into the hands of a sadist in order to recapture the feelings that had coursed through my body as Mr. B. fucked my while I was tied, my nipples clamped and my body strapped or cropped?
To answer that question, more than anything else, I found myself making my way unwillingly, but inexorably back to Mr. B.'s house. I had not had any contact with him during the three days leading up to Wednesday night after the weekend. I guess he assumed that I would stick to my original position and not show up. In my confused state, I didn't know really what I was going to do until I left the house that evening to meet him.
I knocked on his door.
"You've decided you want to keep your job after all," he said upon answering.
Yes, I thought. I liked my work and it paid well. I also had to know...
This time, we didn't make it to the couch. With firm pressure on my shoulders, Mr. B. made me get right on my knees in the hallway and start servicing his cock. As he unzipped his fly and pulled his manhood out, I felt myself, almost u*********sly, lick my lips in anticipation. The very act of kneeling in front of him, so abruptly, in his hallway, without any drama or discussion or anything else, sent a shiver through my body.
I felt inordinately pleased as he pulled out his prick, already stiff and fully engorged, using his right hand to feed it into my now-wide-open mouth while his left hand, on the back of my head, guided me with gentle, but insistent pressure, right down onto him, deeply. Already, just a few seconds into this third 'punishment' I already felt myself responding quickly to my boss's gestures, molding my body's reactions, anticipating his desires, feeling a strong urge to submit to his will.
Kneeling in front of him, I also knew that I was pleased because he was so stiff for me already! That just the act of showing up and kneeling in front of him, without question or protest, made him excited enough to stuff my mouth with a cock that was hard and stiff, rather than soft and weak. The thrill of having my mouth immediately impaled on what felt like a lead pipe was intoxicating - the familiar warmth spiraled outward from my belly as I serviced him.
With his pants still on, I clutched at Mr. B.'s hips for support as I sucked his prick through his open fly. Eventually, he fisted my hair in a tight grip, using it to control my head movements as the 'servicing' continued. Often, he would f***e my head back a little, making me look up at his 6'4" frame, even as my mouth was full of cock. I felt small, overpowered, humiliated, degraded and delicious all at the same time. I imagined what it must be like for him to look down at me – seeing a young woman, in my prime, on my knees, submissive, in the hallway just two feet inside his front door, staring up at him with huge eyes as my mouth, stuffed, sawed back and forth on his manhood in a steady rhythm that he controlled and directed to HIS satisfaction. No wonder he was so stiff! It must be an incredible sight – thinking about it just made me wetter and wetter.
"Take off your shirt and bra," he commanded me. I remembered this from my first punishment. I made a show of unbuttoning my blouse, slipping it off my shoulders and unhooking and removing my bra – all while gazing up at his face, with my mouth slowly sliding up and down his thick shaft. It was strange. During that first session, his peremptory commands had upset me, offended me. Now they aroused me. It was a short journey from independent, liberated woman to slut, I mused to myself, as I completed baring my breasts and torso.
At one point, he told me to lick his balls. As I ran my tongue back and forth across them, coating them with my saliva and slowly jerking his cock with my hand, his balls felt huge and ponderous and full of cum. If past experience was any guide, I knew their contents would soon be deposited somewhere inside me (probably my gullet). That thought contributed to my overall feeling of being absolutely in his power, helpless to resist him.
I was slightly uncomfortable, kneeling on the hardwood floor. But I didn't dream of protesting. Uncomfortable as I was (even while sort of enjoying myself at the moment), I didn't want to do anything that might increase what I figured would be some harsh punishment later on.
As he moved me back onto his dick proper, I settled in for the long haul. Deeper and deeper I tried to f***e my head down onto his dick, taking as much as possible, holding him inside me for seconds at a time, angling my mouth and neck to provide as much depth as possible, letting him flex his fuck-muscle as it bottomed out inside me. It was a delicious, degrading feeling to feel his dick bottom out, cutting off my own air, feeling his heart rate intimately against the inside of my cheeks and upper throat, as the bl**d pumped through his cock, growing ever so slightly inside me. He flexed, holding me impaled on him, using his grip on my hair to brook no argument.
I doubted whether I'd have the strength to push off of him if I needed to. He could probably suffocate me with his cock if he wanted to– he was so strong and his grip in my hair so tight. I saw him smiling at my involuntary gagging, obviously enjoying himself. Whether he enjoyed the sensation of my mouth and throat convulsing around his cock or the look of fear and pity in my eyes as I looked up at him, pleading silently as only a woman that is occupied, on her knees, can plead, I didn't know. I felt utterly helpless, along for the ride, giving in to the sensation, molding my body, my mouth, my tongue, my throat, to bring as much pleasure to him as possible.
I could feel my own juices leaking out of my pussy. My only remaining clothes were a miniskirt without panties (what was the point of panties, I thought, as I dressed for the night – besides he'd just stuff them in my mouth!) and my heels. I was mortally afraid now that my cunt's moisture would simply start dripping onto the floor while I was being throat fucked (or f***ed to throat-fuck myself, as I wasn't 'restrained' at the moment), reinforcing to Mr. B. his chauvinist impression that I got off on being used and dominated in such a rough and callous manner.
He pulled a couple of clothespins out of his pocket and handed them to me.
"What the fuck?" I thought to myself, holding one of the wretched, pinching pins in each hand.
"Pinch and twist your nipples until they're hard," he said.
What!?! Just who did this motherfucker think he was! He hands me a couple of clothespins, while I'm sucking his cock and tells me to get my nipples hard! What kind of bullshit is that? Does he think I don't know what he's going to do with these things, once they're hard!?!
I just stared up at him, a questioning look on my face, my mouth stuffed with prick.
He gave me a sharp slap across the cheek. "Do what I say."
It was no use. I felt out of control of the situation (as I usually felt in Mr. B.'s presence). So, a clothespin held against each palm with my ring-finger and pinkie, my head doing the cha-cha-cha on his cock, I raised my hands up to my breasts and took each of my nipples between my thumb, index and middle fingers and began slowly twisting and pinching them. Of course, they were already hard, since I was naked and aroused. His simple command to me to pinch them, followed by the slap to my face, was enough to complete their transformation into hard nubbins of flesh, extremely sensitive, ready to be bitten by the springs of the pins in my hands, without any help from me.
Nonetheless, I luxuriated in the feeling of twisting and pinching my tits, as I sucked his cock, while holding the small instruments of pain I knew I'd soon be feeling. It made me feel wanton and hot and lusted for. More moisture leaked from my honey pot as I stimulated myself, while continuing to orally stimulate him. This guy sure had a way of making a girl feel bad, and yet still feeling good at the same time.
"Okay – put them on."
Again, I was dumbstruck, but not really surprised (why had he given them to me, after all). Apparently, not only was her boss going to hurt me, humiliate me, fuck me and use me, but he was going to make me do all this stuff to myself! As I gazed up at him, gagged by cock, I silently pleaded with him. - "Please...don't make me put these on myself. Punish me, fuck me, whatever – but don't make me do it to myself – that's too much..."
He just stared back down at me, implacable, brooking no dissent, showing no inclination to give me any room for maneuver.
So, still pinching and twisting one nipple, still with his cock in my mouth, I moved the clothespin held in my right hand up to my left nipple. It was awkward to position everything correctly, because of his cock. Although he wasn't currently face-fucking me, he was holding my head firmly on his prick and I felt instinctively that he would be greatly displeased if I spit him out while carrying out his ridiculous instructions. It was a little hard to see down to make sure I was getting it on right (and wasn't that a great big joke – trying to make sure I 'properly' clamped myself).
As the pin closed on my nipple, I both savored the sting and dreaded it. It certainly served to focus my attention, that's for sure. I also knew that the slight pressure now would surely build with time and G*d only knew when Mr. B. would take it off – I didn't hold any high hopes that it would be anytime soon however.
Having clamped one nipple according to his instructions, I proceeded to close the mouth of the remaining clothespin on my other nipple, wincing a second time at the sting of the pin as it bit home. Thank goodness these weren't the heavy-duty type of clamp he had subjected me to previously. I wasn't sure if I could have actually followed through in placing one of those hellish binder clamps from two weeks ago on myself.
So, bare-chested, nipple-clamped, kneeling, mouth stuffed with cock (and still very wet down there), it looked like the real party was about to begin as Mr. B. suddenly began anew fucking my face, with as much cooperation from me as I could give. The situation, Mr. B.'s dominant attitude, his sheer physical presence, his size and his overwhelming male scent enveloped me as he sawed his fuck-muscle back and forth inside my mouth, using his grip in my hair to completely control me until I felt like I had been turned into nothing more than a receptacle to sate his desires. What's worse, I was happier here, in this position, and more turned on by far than I had been over the weekend in my desperate attempt, with my ex, to experience some good old-fashioned 'normal' sex. His successful (at least to this point) sexual domination of me, so soon after my miserable experience over the weekend, just served to reinf***e my growing realization that I might be trapped into this new way of life, this new need to have a man control me in the bedroom.
"Now - When I come, I want you to be a good girl and make sure you keep everything inside" he said softly. "I don't want my floor to get dirty..."
His tone, ridiculous as it would have sounded in normal conversation, was just delicious in the current situation, making me feel all soft and pliant inside. Stuffed with cock, I nodded vigorously; batting my eyes up at him in what I hoped was a positive signal. "No, Mr. B. I won't let anything spill out. I'll be a good girl. I promise." I'd given him enough blowjobs to know, at this point, how he liked everything to finish up.
Several minutes, lots of spit and about 100 strokes later, I felt his cock begin to grow in what I knew was the normal prelude to his orgasm. I felt his balls tighten perceptibly beneath my chin in one of my extended stays buried down to the roots of his dick. I spread my knees slightly in anticipation, lowering myself a little bit, doing my best to create a long, straight, warm, tight, oral tunnel for him to drive his cock into – hoping to add just enough more to get him past the point of no return even though I was pretty resigned to the fact that he'd only come when he wanted to, not when I wanted him to.
When his cock finally swelled to its largest thickness and a hot stream erupted out of it and into my mouth, down my throat and into my stomach, I felt another rush of warmth radiate from my belly up to my clothes-pinned nipples and down to my leaking cunt. He lingered inside me for a few seconds and I eagerly suckled his cock, licking and cleaning it, removing all traces of his cum.
Pulling out of me, Mr. B. took his cock in his own hands (I'd never really seen him do this before). He started at the base and, giving it a few long, slow jerks, squeezed one last drop of jism into view. I opened my mouth, almost without thinking, tilting my head back, anticipating that Mr. B. would want to make a final 'deposit' into his oral 'bank account'.
Instead, he pinched it off and let the heavy drop of cum fall onto the wooden floor in front of me.
I stared at the pearly drop, lying on the floor in front of me, in a kind of dread fascination.
"Now. Now...I'll need you to clean up that last bit up before we can move on," I heard him say in a serious tone, as I continued to contemplate the drop of jism on the hardwood floor.
I was mortified and turned on at the same time. He really knew how to push my buttons exquisitely. Kneeling, naked (except for the scrap of my miniskirt), tit-clamped, wet, humiliated and with a salty, unpleasant aftertaste in my mouth, I lowered my head to the hallway floor (seeing Mr. B.' shoes out of the corner of my eye) and darted my tongue out to lick up the last of his orgasm in the most supreme act of submission I'd ever performed in front of a man, Mr. B. or anyone else. Unbelievable.
I could only imagine how he must feel, seeing me in such a position, practically naked, my ass in the air, my face on his floor, cleaning up HIS jism from HIS floor with MY tongue. It must be a sight to behold, I thought.
"By the way, since you're already down there, why don't you lick up your own cunt juice as well. I see some there between your legs," he said in a condescending, playful tone.
A hot flash of humiliation coursed through my body at those awful words. What a bastard, basically outright calling me a slut and reinforcing my slut status by telling me to clean up my own mess. As I shifted position to lick up the faint traces of my own pussy's moisture, I vowed to myself that I'd quit after tonight anyway. I'd never spend another moment, beyond this evening, with this heartless jerk.
I ignored the fact that those very same words he'd just uttered, combined with what I was actually doing right now, running my tongue across his entranceway floor, had the exact opposite effect on the continuing state of my sexual arousal.
After finishing up, he quickly guided me into the familiar office with the big desk, the sight of my previous run-ins during 'punishment time'. I resigned myself to another night of being tied and tortured on top of his desk.
He quickly produced his trusty pair of leather, fur-lined cuffs and attached them just above my elbows, rather than my wrists. When he locked them together, my upper arms were pulled far back behind me, thrusting out my tits, while leaving my lower arms free from restraint. I gazed down at my clamped nipples in helplessness. Next, he pulled a leather collar out of his top drawer, securing it around my neck. The intimate touch of his fingers on my body sent shivers through me. The collar had some metal rings emplaced in it.
Then he moved to my ankles, locking them in the same fur-lined leather cuffs he'd used on me in the past. But instead of attaching my ankles together, he told me to spread my legs. From underneath the desk, Mr. B. pulled out what looked like an oversized sawed-off broom handle, about three feet in length. It had a couple of eyehooks screwed into each of the ends and another eyehook screwed into the middle. It was a solid piece of wood. It only took two more snap hooks to attach my leather-cuffed ankles to the ends of the homemade 'spreader bar'.
Cuffed at the elbows, collared and spread, I wondered what would come next. Mr. B. pushed on my back, forcing me to lean my torso down across the desk from the back to the front, until my outthrust tits were mashed against the dark mahogany laminate. I looked at the empty leather executive chair briefly and then laid my cheek against the cool surface of the desk. I could feel the air in the room brush past the open V between my legs, caressing my pussy in a cool embrace.
I felt Mr. B. move around, fumbling between my legs. Shortly, he lifted my face up, and I saw him pull a long piece of rope from underneath the desk. He passed the rope through the metal ring at the front of my collar and fished it back beneath the desk.
As the slack was taken out of the rope, I learned two things.
First, the other end of the rope must have been attached to the third eyehook in the middle of the wooden bar that was spreading my legs apart, because as the slack rope was tightened, I felt the wooden bar pull my spread legs forward toward the desk.
Second, Mr. B. had effectively rendered me completely helpless for the third time in as many weeks. He pulled the rope tight enough to f***e my neck and face down against the desk completely, tying the rope off against the third eyehook. The bastard had left my miniskirt on, but it provided absolutely no protection to me. He simply rolled it up over the cheeks of my ass onto my lower back.
So, elbow-cuffed, bent over, spread, with my tits (still clamped) mashed against the desk, and my head held down against its cool surface by the restraining rope looped through my collar and pulled tight against his improvised leg-spreader, I waited for what was to come.
It didn't take long as he placed his hands on the twin mounds of my rump. As he massaged my ass firmly, I felt myself shudder in anticipation. I'd get my spanking after all, I thought, just this time not bent over his knees, but bent over his desk.
As the first medium slaps began to land, I determined to enjoy myself, if this was to be my fate. As was his custom in the past, he started slow and built up the intensity over time, paying attention to each of my ass cheeks and making sure he slapped and spanked my upper thighs as well.
Strangely, he left me un-gagged. He must have enjoyed the low moans of pleasure coming from my mouth as I inevitably got 'into' the spanking (although it may have helped that I declined to participate in my own humiliation by not wearing any panties this week). Every once in a while, he'd interrupt his spanking briefly to slip his fingers into the cleft between my legs, sampling the moisture that betrayed my own arousal.
Always, I had to lick my own juices off of one hand while he continued to spank me with his other hand. Of course, he let his fingers linger in my mouth, making me continue to obediently suck them long after they were clean. I was sure that the slight tremors running through my body each time I was struck provided additional enjoyment to him, jerking my mouth, ever so slightly, back and forth on his fingers.
As the spanking grew in intensity, my low moans of pleasure turned into moans, alternately, of lust and pain. Eventually, my entire backside and upper thighs were so heated that I felt like I would burst into flame.
He just kept spanking me.
After I felt like I could take no more, I finally broke down...
"Please, Mr. B., it's too much. Please stop. Fuck me instead..."
He didn't reply, but simply dipped his hands back into my honey pot. When he drew them out and brought them near to my lips, he answered my plea, "It doesn't look like you've had too much to me, you're just as wet as you've been the past two times..."
Degraded and defeated, I licked my own juices again off his fingers while he recommenced spanking me, harder than ever. I felt the first tears start from my eyes. There was no way out - no way to preserve my dignity. He was completely breaking me down...
And then the spanking stopped. He began to rub my ass in long, lazy strokes. It felt heavenly and I relished the soft touch of his hand across my sore and battered bottom. Now if he'd just stick it to me, I was ready to have another one of those fantastic "Mr. B." cums (at least that was how I was starting to think of them, since only he, at this point, had given them to me). He'd prepared me well, now all he had to do was finish the deed and fuck my brains out! I couldn't wait.
Of course, the bastard didn't do that though. Instead, he reached into his damnable desk drawer and pulled out the riding crop from last week. Tracing the leather across my wounded derriere made me clench my teeth in frustration.
Insult was added to injury when I heard his next words.
"Okay. I want you to use your hands and pull those ass cheeks as far apart as you can. I want to see that pussy and ass of yours while I crop your thighs."
I could hardly believe my ears. "No...No...Please don't," I murmured. "Please, Mr. B., just fuck me – I'll be a good girl..."
"Pull them apart, bitch, or it'll just go harder for you" and with that he cruelly cropped me twice in succession against my already-severely-punished ass. I yelped in pain, knew I was beaten and reached my hands down to spread my own ass cheeks.
"Wider," he said and cropped me terribly again, this time across my upper thighs. "Spread that ass...Wider!" he commanded, again slashing me cruelly.
Sobbing, even cuffed at the elbows as I was, I frantically pulled my ass cheeks apart, desperate to 'expose' myself to his satisfaction and end the unbearable pain that was being administered through the crop. I didn't understand until now how terribly strong Mr. B. was and how all the spankings, the strappings and the croppings I had experienced to this point were just a dark promise of what he could have done to me, had he been of a mind to.
So, spreading my cheeks so that both my cunt and my secret brown eye were fully exposed for his viewing pleasure, I endured a second drawn-out punishment session as, with much less f***e, now that I had properly 'spread' myself, he proceeded to crop me on my thighs, from my ass down to just above my knees. I flinched under his hand, but bore it as best I could.
He kept my on my toes though, as I would inevitably lose the tight grip I had on my own ass and my cheeks would slide together, my palms slipping against the sheen of sweat that lay all over my body as a result of his ministrations. Every time this happened, he took the opportunity to drastically increase the f***e behind his crop until I had re-gripped my ass cheeks and spread them until he felt I had, once again, properly exposed my sexual parts.
He was using the threat (more than the threat, the actual application) of intense pain to f***e my to degrade myself before him, obscenely spreading myself in an open invitation to take any hole he wanted, even while striking me with the hated riding crop. It was how 'hard' that I wanted to be struck with that riding crop that I was pulling my ass cheeks so hard apart for, not 'whether' I would be whipped with it!
I suddenly felt a searing pain right against my spread, exposed asshole. He had brought the crop down directly against me; even while I was holding my cheeks open for him to do just that! I sobbed in anguish, pleading with him to stop. My automatic reaction was to let go of the grip I had on my ass, letting my cheeks close to protect my tortured hole.
This was no good though, as he just returned with a few more vicious swipes to my thighs.
"Spread that ass, cunt, I'm not done with you yet," were his only words.
Sobbing, pleading, tied, clamped, and cropped mercilessly; I knew I'd eventually have to follow his directions. The pain from the crop against my thighs and rump was driving me literally insane, the sting still radiating throughout my body from the strike to my poor third hole no less so. I knew that he would just continue to beat me mercilessly until I followed his orders.
Defeated, I reached my bound arms again, gripping my cheeks, fearfully pulling them apart, whimpering in terror.
"Wider," was his only response to my efforts.
As I put all of my efforts into exposing my tiny brown hole, just so that the monster above me could slash me again with his hateful stick, I realized that I should never have come back. It was too much; he was too strong for me. I licked my lips in fearful anticipation waiting for the stroke of pain that I knew was coming.
This time he brought the crop up between my legs into my pussy instead of down onto my asshole, striking directly into the pink meat of my cunt. Sobbing through the pain again, I couldn't help but change the position of my hands to protect my poor privates instead of expose them.
"Now, Now..." you know better than that, he said playfully as he recommenced cropping my ass and thighs (but not so playfully with his blows), using the pain to f***e me a third time to open up my crevice for his amusements. "Do a good job this time and we'll be done with the riding crop."
I didn't know whether I could trust him, but didn't have any choice. I'd do anything, at this point, that offered me an escape from further punishment. It was the hardest thing, psychologically, I'd ever done (even harder than what I'd done just a half hour ago in licking up his cum and my own moisture at his feet), to spread myself again, exposing my ass and pussy, voluntarily, knowing that he would whip me either on my asshole or on my cunt. I had to fight the urge to protect myself, knowing with certainty that at any moment, he'd strike one of the two most private areas on my body, not knowing which one, but knowing that there was no escape.
I could refuse, I knew, for a time, to be the instrument of my own exposure. But I also knew that was fruitless. I knew his strength. He'd already demonstrated it. His riding crop slashing into my ass and thighs would eventually drive me to obey his commands, regardless of my desire to not participate in spreading my own ass cheeks to his torture. Eventually, I would do everything he told me to. Knowing this, I might as well get it over with now. I had to obey him.
So, gripping my cheeks firmly in my hands, I spread myself once again, obscenely, laying my entire crevice bare, my brown eye winking open and closed in fear, voluntarily, for him to strike as he pleased. He hesitated for several long moments, prolonging the humiliation, probably just gazing at the sight of me spreading myself beneath him. I whimpered quietly in pain and degradation, not daring to let my grip on myself slip, keeping myself spread as wide as I could, obediently waiting for him to strike a 3rd hateful blow, inviting him to do it with my posture, the set of my hands against my cheeks, spreading them for him...
When it came, I gave into the pain, sobbing loudly and then quietly, as he lay the crop down on the desk, next to my face, within my sight.
"Keep those cheeks spread," was his only comment on the ending of this particular punishment. I despaired at what might come next as tears fell silently onto the desk. Tied down, holding my tortured ass spread apart, I wondered if I should be trying to 'figure out' what was next in store for me. However, I was too tired, emotionally, physically, and morally, to think about it. I had to concentrate all of my effort on just following his orders to keep myself spread open, vulnerable to whatever depredations he might next come up with. The need to keep my ass spread utterly consumed my thoughts; I couldn't bear to give him an excuse to start whipping my body with that crop again...
Through all of this, though, the heat was still there. I knew, in the back of my mind, despite the spanking and the cropping, despite the direct application of the crop to both my asshole and my pussy, despite the humiliation of having to spread myself to make it easier for him to whip me, that it would take the simple insertion of my boss's dick into my cunt to take me over the edge, make me forget the pain, and bring back the pleasure I lusted after, the pleasure I came here tonight to experience again.
The next thing I was conscious of was a cool stream of liquid that I felt in my ass crack, that I was holding open so diligently for my boss.
"Spread that around."
Normally, I'd be outraged at his terse, short command. I knew better than to express it though, and kept my mouth shut. It was an improvement, at least, on getting spanked or horsewhipped. Moving the fingers of one hand into the oil pooled between my cheeks and slowly running down to my cunt, I ran it back and forth along my crevice, savoring the gentle touch of my fingers against my brown bud. Tentatively, I pressed against my anal opening, wondering if I should actually stick a finger in there, lube my own ass up. Would he fuck me there? Was that why he poured oil between my cheeks?
"That's a good girl..." he spoke soothingly to me. "Stick a finger in your ass and get it all oiled up. Your pussy doesn't need any baby oil, it's plenty wet already from the riding crop. I can see that you still really like to get spanked and whipped. Nothing's changed."
The cruelty of this matter-of-fact statement from him didn't merit a response. However, a shiver of anticipation ran through my body at the dark promise of his dick up my third and final hole. He'd put a finger up my ass before, using my own pussy's traitorous moisture as a lubricant, the first time I'd submitted to his punishment, three weeks ago. Now, he was forcing my to use my own fingers to prepare the way to accept his manhood. And I was doing so!
I felt indescribably sluttish and wanton, tied here to his desk, recently horsewhipped, cuffed at the elbows yet still told callously to lube up my own ass.
He stepped behind me, pouring a little more oil on my cheeks, before putting a hand on each hip. I drew my breath in sharply. I ached to feel him inside me. He was so close. Feeling his hard prick nudge up against my inflamed pussy, I frantically tried to reach my hips back, even if only fractionally, to get him closer to me.
"Keep on finger-fucking that hole of yours while I fuck you," Mr. B. stated in his low, soft and deep voice. And with that, he thrust deliberately home into my pussy, sinking his entire shaft into my pink gash.
It was heaven. I actually felt myself sigh as his dick slid home into my pussy. I felt so filled, so content, so happy at this moment. I wanted to thank Mr. B. for finally fucking me, but didn't – not wanting to break this moment. I knew that it was of no concern to him that I felt so good to have him inside me. He never had really concerned himself with my pleasure. He simply whipped me, or spanked me, or clamped me or fucked me (in my throat and my pussy – and now maybe in my ass) or did all these things at once. The fact that I got off on that didn't seem to matter to him, I thought. In fact, he'd kept upping the ante, punishing me harder and harder because he DIDN'T want me to have a good time. It was his stated intention to punish me, after all, for my thievery, not reward me. Maybe I got off on the fact that he didn't care – he simply used my body for his own ends and I was free to enjoy myself or not.
Nevertheless, I was tied, whipped, fucking my own ass with the fingers of one hand, keeping a cheek spread with the other hand, filled full of cock and loving every minute of it, because now Mr. B.'s dick was finally inside of me, where it belonged, where I needed it. I felt my entire body building up to a tremendous orgasm where it would release all the stored energy from the last half hour.
As the wave crested and the powerful feelings overtook me, Mr. B. must have sensed my state. "Get another finger in there. My dick is bigger than that and I don't want any problems getting inside."
Cumming, moaning and thrashing under his cock, I hurried to comply. Sliding a second finger into my third hole, I let go of all sense of propriety, adjusting the rhythm of my finger fucking to match the rhythm of Mr. B.'s cock as it slid back and forth inside of me. Often he would stop for a few seconds, watching me as I shamelessly finger-fucked my ass, begging him with my body to resume his rhythm. I didn't stop for fear that he might be displeased and pull out. I'd do anything to keep him inside of her; I'd degrade myself totally. At one point, he poured yet more oil into my crevice and I greedily slicked up my fingers before diving them back into my anal canal.
Eventually, the action of my own fingers, combined with his cock, began to bring out in my a special feeling, yet a new feeling that I had not experienced before, all its own - delicious, dirty, sluttish, submissive, wanton, whorish, vulnerable and yet powerful at the same time. Powerful because even though I was tied, I knew that Mr. B. was on fire too, that he was powerfully aroused, and that it was my body that had brought him to this point.
Ultimately, Mr. B. could never resist sinking his dick inside me. He could never be satisfied with just whipping me. I always aroused him to the point where he had to sate himself inside me, not just on me, and THAT was the source of my feeling of power. He couldn't resist the pull of my own sex.
I began to really get into it, plunging two fingers as deep as I could into myself even as Mr. B. plunged his cock to its roots inside my bent-over frame.
"One more finger. Get another one in there."
I did so without question, moaning in response to his command, slipping my ring finger into my asshole, joining it with my index finger and middle finger. I felt another powerful orgasm wash through me, a combination of my own ministrations and his dick, buried up my cunt.
Now Mr. B. moved his hands from my hips to my cheeks, forcing away my hand that was holding one cheek apart, but leaving my other hand, with three fingers still buried up my ass, where it was.
When he spread my cheeks, I was again surprised by his strength. I was afraid he'd simply tear my ass cheeks apart, I felt spread so strongly and f***efully. He dominated my ass just like he dominated every other part of me, forcing my cheeks farther apart than I could ever do – all while they were slick with oil and hard to grip! It was incredible.
Thus, bent over his desk, tied by my throat collar to my spread-eagled legs, digesting his first load of jism (along with a lot of my own cunt juice), clothes pinned (although one of them had fallen off as my tits kept rubbing against his desk), spanked and cropped more cruelly than a horse at the racetrack, f***ed to finger-fuck my ass and now my pussy impaled by Mr. B. (and I was loving every minute of that!), my body trembled under the feel of his hands obscenely spreading my cheeks in preparation for his final assault on my body.
He withdrew his fuck-muscle from my cunt.
Feeling abandoned and desolate, I rolled my hips in invitation, desperate to regain contact with him. I withdrew my fingers from my ass, hoping he'd waste no time plunging home into the only hole he hadn't yet fucked.
But instead of doing so, he simply laid his turgid cock in the crevice between my spread cheeks, making no move to insert it into my ass. Whimpering in frustration, I realized he was waiting for a final surrender from me. I'd have to beg him to ass-fuck me. I'd have to beg him to do to me the dirtiest act imaginable, the secret shameful thing that all women were afraid of, but fascinated with (or at least I was!). He'd f***e this last degradation onto me.
"Please, Mr. B. Please fuck my ass. Please – I need you inside of me. Please don't make me beg."
"Put it in there then, bitch," was his reply.
And with that, I realized the final reaches of his plan. I would have to take his hard cock, with my own hands, cuffed at the elbows as they were, and, while he held my cheeks spread as wide as humanly possible, I'd have to stuff his cock into my ass myself! Un-fucking-believable! And even as I was thinking this, I felt my hands wrapping around his heated pipe, eagerly gripping him and guiding him into my unplumbed hole. Helpfully, he moved his body forward under my hands, but the actual work of stuffing his pole into my ass he left to me.
And I was doing it! It was hard – I couldn't see him or his dick, tied down as I was – but I could feel the head of his hard cock against my rosebud, loosened from my own finger fucking. Slowly, but surely, I worked him in, corkscrewing his cock, pushing it into me, taking that last step from independent woman to total fuck slut. Once I'd pushed him in past my sphincter, he mercifully took over, sliding it the rest of the way home - in the hole that was never intended for a cock of any size, much less his size.
The intense feelings of abandonment I felt as he had withdrawn from my cunt were now gone as he slid home into my oiled brown highway. I felt incredibly stuffed and in some pain (he was pretty goddamn big, after all!). The feelings that now coursed through me are indescribable – incredibly full, incredibly satisfied, incredibly used and wanted at the same time. I was in heaven as, on my plateau of orgasmic bliss, I could feel his heart rate as he slowly pistoned his dick up and down in my ass.
He felt enormous inside me; he felt a part of me. I never wanted him to pull his manhood out. Mr. B. made no effort to reach between my legs to diddle my clit as he started to fuck my ass. The fucker had never laid a hand to my clit while fucking me, helping me get over the top.
I was simply a receptacle for him, a series of holes for him to fuck and a series of body parts for him to torture. I had never felt so objectified as I did in that moment; tied, bent over and spread; one tit clamped; spanked and cropped mercilessly; fucked in my pussy and now ass-fucked. It was only incidental to him that this sexual torture and fucking took me over the edge and plunged me into a hitherto unknown world of pleasure, intensity and orgasm.
A powerful feeling engulfed my whole body – I was going to come from this ass fucking – I couldn't believe it. It was like a flower blossoming toward the sun. My entire body was opening up. A wave crested and crashed through me as Mr. B.'s tool slid greasily in and out of my third hole.
As I felt his cock grow, almost imperceptibly, inside my ass, presaging his own coming orgasm I felt my body react in a final massive tribute to his treatment of me that night. I felt his essence flood my rectum and I felt a final mental 'click' as one door shut in my mind and another one opened, never more to be closed.
It was over!
Keeping his spent cock buried inside me, I felt him run his strong hands across my upper back, kneading and massaging deeply into my shoulders and neck. Overcome with emotion, I sobbed silently, not knowing whether it was in pain, humiliation, gratitude, joy or astonishment. I tenderly suckled his fingers as they found their way to my mouth. I didn't want this moment to end.
Finally, he pulled out, sending a course of intense disappointment through me. I wanted him inside me, always. Even limp, I wanted him inside me.
He unbuckled the cuffs around my elbows; my arms were free, although I was still tied to his desk by the rope stretching from my collar to the spreader bar. Next, he unbuckled the collar, leaving me free to stand up, if I wanted (but I didn't). Last he freed my ankles from the fur-lined leather cuffs attaching them to the modified broomstick.
He helped me to the familiar couch and I lay down, on my side, exhausted. He had not removed the remaining clothespin, though it didn't hurt that much. I was numb to the pain and couldn't summon the energy to remove it myself.
I heard him go back to the room in which he'd administered tonight's punishment – he must have been picking everything up. Then I heard some running water. He returned shortly with a tall glass of water, which I drank greedily. He sat down next to me on the couch and, his own drink in hand, turned on the television to the late-night news.
Without being prompted, I lay down on the couch, my head in his lap, unzipped his fly (he hadn't yet undressed this evening) and sank my mouth around his cock. After all, he hadn't told me to leave yet. Up to this point, whenever I wasn't tied down, I was sucking his dick. Why should things change now? I was grateful that his cock had a nice clean taste to it – he must have washed it when he'd cleaned everything else up – but I would probably have done this regardless. I was past caring. I was his.
He just didn't know it.
He didn't respond immediately, but eventually, after a while, I felt him grow inside me and I knew that I would taste him one more time that night. I was interrupted once to refresh his gin & tonic, but other than that spent the next hour sucking him, coaxing his cock back to life, working him over, receiving his third orgasm, and swallowing it deep into my belly.
After I was through, he had me turn over, head still in his lap, in order to remove the final clothespin. I whimpered in fear and clutched his upper arms as he let my left nipple free from the biting wood.
As life rushed back into this tortured nipple, and intense pain along with it, silent tears coursed down my cheeks. He covered my breasts tenderly with his large warm hands and again my body was suffused with indescribable feelings.
"It's over," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow at work – you don't need to come over again..."
With these words he gave me my parole.
I turned my face into his shirt, wrapping my arms around his torso and, hugging him as tight as I could, thought to myself "We'll see about that".
I was here again, just outside Mr. B.'s door. But this time, I was here of my own choosing, not because I was being blackmailed. The realization I had come to after three 'sessions' with Mr. B. was undeniable. I was ruined for regular sex. He'd changed something fundamentally in me. It had been over a month since I'd been given 'parole' by my boss – and a more tortured, confused and miserable month I can't remember.
I spent a week recovering from his third sexually focused punishment. I spent another week in a mental fog, analyzing hopelessly my situation, but knowing deep down that I was trapped in my new paradigm. I'd spent the following two weeks discreetly trying to convince my boss to 'punish' me again – without success – the guy was OBTUSE.
I'd smiled shyly at him. I'd tried to make myself as 'available' as possible by often going by his office for trivial things. I'd tried dressing properly, but provocatively at the same time. He never so much as asked me how my weekend was – just like he'd always been, before ruining me for normal sexual relations – all business, never giving me an opening to introduce my desires naturally.
It looked like in this respect, Mr. B. was like every other man (that I'd known, at least) – he didn't have a FUCKING CLUE. Did I have to spell it out on a highway billboard for him? How could a successful businessman (and someone so sexually dominant as well) have NO intuition in this regard? Unbelievable.
I considered briefly finding another man to carry this through with (wouldn't that serve him right!). But I knew he had the goods in the bedroom – and I didn't have enough experience in this new realm to know whether any guy could do it for me, or if it was something inherent in Mr. B. that drove me over the edge. Plus, who knew how many psychos were out there – my boss was psycho enough, but at least I hand confidence in the fact that he wouldn't permanently damage me.
So finally, frustrated to the extreme, I went to his office and, embarrassedly, laid it out in front of him. Again, the conversation didn't really go as planned.
"What do you need?"
"I want you to treat me the same way you did...before"
He was nonplussed. Evidently, he STILL didn't know what I was talking about.
"I want to come over to your house again...like when I did before...and I want you to use me like you did...before."
A light came into his eyes and he looked thoughtfully at me (FUCKING GENIUS – I only had to spell out 99% of it to him).
"Have you stolen from me again!"
"No - nothing like that. I just want to come over to your house again. I want you to use me like you did before," said shyly, uncertain – I had no idea what his reaction would be – he was so unreadable.
"You mean that you want me to treat you like my own personal sex-toy...do whatever I want."
Exactly. Eureka. Wow – was this guy dumb.
"Yes, Mr. B." was all that I said.
Now the business persona that Mr. B. always had on at the office dropped. He looked at me frankly...and very sexually, appraising me now as an 'object', rather than as a person. I immediately felt warm.
"Say it, Miss T," he spoke in a measured tone, "Say – 'I want you to make me into your own personal sex-toy.'"
His tone brooked no refusal. I didn't want to refuse anyway. This was my new paradigm. This is what I needed. "Mr. B., I want you to make me into your own personal sex-toy. Please, do anything you want with me."
"Be at my house at 1:00 pm on Sunday," he said with a note of dismissal and turned back to his work.
Sunday! That was three more days away! I'd have to get through all of tomorrow at work and then Saturday as well. I didn't say anything, though. I had what I wanted. I gave him another shy smile and I got out while the getting was good.
I knocked on his door. He opened it and led me into his house.
The TV was on and blathering some sports nonsense. Mr. B. was dressed in his usual garb - a pair of slacks and a collared shirt. Of course, I was dressed in my 'Mr. B. special' – a short skirt, blouse, panties and bra and a pair of fuck-me heels.
"Good, you're on time. The game's about to begin."
The game? What was he talking about? Here I was, ready to go, ready to get spanked and fucked and whatever else he wanted to do to me...and he was talking about a game? But Mr. B. had already sat down on his couch, looking at me expectantly.
Sensing my confusion and uncertainty, he offered a longer explanation. "It's Sunday. The Raiders are playing and I plan on enjoying the game with my new sex-toy," he said – and smiled.
Now it was my turn to be nonplussed. I continued to stare at him stupidly.
"Miss T, I didn't ask you to come here. You asked to come here. You're free to go, but if you'd like to stay, then you need to be over here and on your knees before kick-off."
"This wasn't what I had in mind," I said.
"That's unfortunate for me, although not necessarily unexpected. I'll see you back at the office then...Oh, and please refrain from saying that you want to be my 'personal sex-toy' in the future when you don't really mean it."
There it was, in black and white. He'd taken me at my word, when I didn't fully realize what my word had meant. It was just like Mr. B. to turn the tables on me like this. He had kept me jumping in my first three encounters with him, never knowing what to expect next – why should it be different now.
Of course, faced with that statement, no further words were necessary. I immediately assumed my now-familiar position, on my knees, between his legs and unzipped his fly. As my mouth sank down around his semi-rigid shaft, a welter of emotions and thoughts ran through me. Of course, it was terrible that I'd be sucking my boss's cock as he watched a football game! I should have his undivided attention. On the other hand, I had to give him credit for original thought. He'd made me repeat back to him at his office that I wanted him to make into his "own personal sex-toy." I think I'd even added a phrase to the effect that I wanted him to do anything he wanted with me...and here he was, doing whatever HE wanted with me, not whatever I wanted him to do to me.
The familiar taste and feel of his bigger-than-average fuck-muscle growing inside my mouth served to transport my thoughts even further into a submissive frame of mind. It was kind of hot, after all, to suck the cock of a man while he was watching football. It made me feel kind of wanton and sluttish to know that I was servicing a guy clever enough to maneuver to the point where he could watch football, consume beer 'n pretzels (today he'd switched from his usual gin 'n tonic) and have a young, nubile woman on her knees with her mouth on his cock all at the same time! Sure, the lamest of male fantasies, but I had to give him credit – he was living it out!
As the game started behind me on the television, I settled in for a long session of cock-sucking. I knew from experience that Mr. B. had unusual control and, with the game as a distraction, I had no illusions that my lips would be numb by the time I felt my boss's cum erupt from his cock on its short journey from his balls to my digestive system (and I had no illusions about where his jism would end up – he was pretty predictable about that, at least – if not predictable in the way I'd like him to be – cum-tasting, not to mention, cum-swallowing was not my favorite activity).
The steady rhythm of my head bobbing up and down on his member put me into a semi-trance like state. I found my concentration zero in on a very small number of things – the feel of his shaft sliding remorselessly, tirelessly, in and out of my mouth; the bumps and ridges along his member, now rock-hard, now a little bit softer and how they felt sliding along and across my lips and tongue; the movement of my head back and forth; the placement of my hands – one at the base of his shaft – the other cupping and fondling his balls.
I got into a cock-sucking zone, so to speak. It was like Mr. B. was disembodied from his cock. He was watching the game and I was sucking his cock. I gauged my progress by monitoring both my nemesis and my best friend – his cock became my whole world. When it was semi-hard, I knew that his cock was distracted. When it was hard, I knew I had his cock's attention. When it was rock-hard (a condition only slightly different, but nevertheless noticeable), I knew that his cock, at least, wasn't distracted at all.
Suddenly, there was a loud cheer on the television. Mr. B. grunted in disgust. A bunch of excited, meaningless sports chatter and after 30 seconds or so, I heard "...and the extra point is good. We'll break now and come back for the kickoff."
At that, Mr. B. grabbed my hair roughly and pulled me up and over his lap. The first swat of his hand against my panty and skirt-covered ass was HARD. I oommphed in surprise. The next several spanks were just as hard, and not accompanied by any soothing massage between spanks.
"Get your clothes off and get back on my cock," was all he said as he ended my spanking after just a very few strokes. Hopefully for you, they won't be scoring any more touchdowns.
As I disrobed, prior to resuming my oral chores, I glanced quickly at the television as the game came back on. It was Raiders-0, Some team with a bird on its helmet-7. Naked now, except for my heels and panties (which he told me to keep on), I again took his cock into my mouth. I was pleased to see it still standing stiffly at attention. I pushed my mouth deeply down onto his prick, taking as much as I could, short of actually stuffing it into my throat (we'd get to that soon enough, I was sure).
Suitably chastened (and smarting a little bit), I continued sucking my boss's cock for another indeterminate amount of time, again losing myself in the moment, making little observations about tiny movements by Mr. B. – and their possible meaning. Did the fact that he was reaching into the pretzel bowl mean anything? Did the fact that he sent me to the fridge for another beer signify anything? Did his fiddling with the remote (why did all men have to constantly fiddle with the remote) mean he was bored with me? In truth, I was totally concentrating on my boss while he was only half-concentrating on me (if even that!). He must have been getting immense satisfaction out of the situation, watching a football game, whiling away his Sunday afternoon and interrupting his blowjob just long enough to send his 'girl' off for another beer.
What's worse, I knew that plenty of men would jump at the chance to shower complete attention and affection on me for just the hint of a promise that sometime in the future I MIGHT go down on them – but here I was, going down on a guy paying little or no attention to me at all! ...and I'd asked him to do this to me! These and other thoughts ran through me head at breakneck speed as I pistoned his dick in and out of my mouth, servicing him, nearly naked, on my knees, while he held a beer in one hand, and watched the game over my bobbing head.
Then it happened, another score for the 'bird' team. Another commercial break and another hard spanking, but this time on an ass protected only by my panties (really, no protection at all), instead of fully clothed. ...And the spanking was longer this time, though not the extended session that I'd experienced in previous meetings with him.
Now Mr. B. was agitated as, my second short spanking concluded, I sank my mouth back around his cock. I could tell he had lost some interest in the game, what with his team SUCKING and being so far behind. Whether this was good or bad for me, though, remained to be seen. He fisted my hair in one hand and really drove me down hard on his cock, keeping me there for several seconds. So, my ass red and smarting from his two harsh spankings, knees sore and slightly rug-burned and mouth getting numb, I endured this new indignity.
I was, upon reflection, perversely, happier. Even if he was being mean to me, at least he was paying attention to me. I sort of got off on the humiliation of giving a blowjob and fetching beer for 'my man' while he watched football. But I got off more when he concentrated on using me full-time, even if it meant that, physically, it was harder on me.
I became the oral cunt that I'd experienced before, being driven up and down, ever deeper and deeper by the strength of Mr. B.
Time slipped by as Mr. B. fucked my mouth, gradually, but remorselessly, harder and harder. As he f***ed me deeper and deeper down on his cock, frustrated at the progress of the game playing behind my back, I felt strangely exhilarated. I knew that soon he'd push me down far enough that the tip of my nose would kiss the skin of his groin at the base of his dick and then I'd be fully impaled – he'd be able to f***e me down no further – and I'd be completely dominated, as I had in the past with him. I felt the moisture between my legs acutely.
Surprise struck me again as I heard another cheer from the televised crowd. Evidently, the Raiders had scored this time. The extra point followed and they broke to a commercial.
He drew my mouth all the way up and off his cock. I looked up in surprise. "Climb up here. Climb on top of my cock," he ordered.
I eagerly mounted him, spreading my knees on either side of his lap, guiding his stiff pole inside my wet cunt (Yeah...I was wet – I was always wet when I was around him, it had gotten so that I was getting wet just thinking about him). As I sank my pussy down onto his cock, I sighed in contentment, relishing the feeling of being full.
"Now – I'll let you have seven strokes – don't take an eighth – or it'll go hard on you. Then I want you to get that wonderful mouth of yours back on my cock," he ordered.
Seven strokes? Why seven? What the hell was going on? Just then, the game came back on and the sports idiot on the TV said that we finally had a game here at 14-7 and I had the answer to my question. Mr. B. was giving me seven strokes for the touchdown.
Bastard! I think he was taking this football thing a little too far, but I was in no position to argue. And he did say that I had a wonderful mouth. I think that's the first compliment he'd ever given me and it nearly turned me into melted butter.
I think I also had the most intense seven strokes of my life (up to that point). As I lifted my cunt up and down on his cock for those seven precious strokes, I made certain to take him all the way in, relishing the feeling as I seated myself firmly onto his lap, savoring the greasy slide of his cock against my tight pussy – feeling every inch of his stiff pole as it slid along my hungry walls – both in and out. I didn't come to orgasm. I didn't have enough heat built up inside me for that. But the anticipation, the desire flooding through my body, the knowledge as I counted in my mind from 7, then to 6 and on down to 1, that I'd have to pull out and suffer intense disappointment, stretched those seven strokes out into a near-eternity for me – yet they were over so soon.
On the last stroke, I stayed firmly planted against his lap, grinding my crotch into his crotch, feeling him planted so deeply inside, not wanting to let go. I was begging him silently to let me keep him inside me. I didn't want to let his cock go. He could still watch the game, I'd do all the work – I just wanted to keep him inside me.
With a firm pat to my ass though, he let me know that fun-time was over. Back to oral service, back to my knees. He was in charge. I could only obey. I went back at him with renewed fervor, determined to prove him right that my mouth was a 'wonderful' place to be for his cock.
Mr. B. must have been affected by our short interlude as well, because his prick was at its rock-hard level of stiffness as I took it back inside my eager mouth. He immediately put one hand back into my hair and another on my shoulder as he took a more active role in this now-extended blowjob – paying more attention to me than to the TV.
The combination of the two short spankings (7 and 14 spanks I realized, in retrospect, for the single touchdown and then the second touchdown scored by the bird team), the blowjob, the short, but intense fuck, his compliment, his rock-hard pole and the taste of my own juices on his prick as I took him back into my mouth had me in a haze of lust and wantonness. I kept one hand massaging his balls, which were not tight – not loose - but moved the other down to my cunny and started fingering myself in hopeless desire, matching my body's arousal to my sexual arousal.
He noticed as I slipped my fingers down inside my panties. "Now...Now...I haven't let you take your panties off yet. If you can't help touching yourself, you'll have to do so from the outside of your panties, not the inside."
Bastard! I mumbled in irritation (around his cock) as I slipped my fingers outside of my panties and started rubbing myself through them. He always (mouth pulled up by Mr. B.) had to have (mouth pushed down) things his way (up), even if it didn't (down harder) really matter (up) to his enjoyment (down really hard). What did he (up) care if I (cock-speared) fingered (up) myself (impaled)? I was still (up) sucking (down hard again) his cock (up), wasn't I (down all the way!)?
As he pulled my head back, his eruption inside my mouth surprised me, but was enough to send my body into its own intense, but brief orgasm, as I fingered my clit through my sopping panties. Thus, his first two pumps were inside my mouth and there was a LOT of it. Immediately, before I could manage to swallow those two liquid torpedoes, he shoved his prick deep into me, back to my throat, blocking me, by the obstruction of his dick, from swallowing what he'd just deposited, but shooting his lesser final sprays straight into (and down) my throat. As he held me against the roots of his prick, not allowing me to collect myself and swallow his cum like a good girl, I could feel the un-swallowed jism begin to leak from the near-vacuum seal I was trying to maintain around his manhood. But he was just a little too big to keep a complete seal.
As the seconds ticked by, I became frantic about his cum. I don't know why. For some reason, I didn't want any of it to come out of my mouth. That had never been part of my oral service to him, other than when he humiliated me the last time by purposely squeezing out a drop onto his hallway floor. But there it was, I could feel it leaking out of the area between my cheeks and his shaft as he kept me planted deeply on his prick. All I could do was try to keep my lips sealed around his shaft and wait for him to sate himself inside me.
When he finally let me up for air, I quickly swallowed what was left inside and then immediately went back down on his softening prick, licking him clean of the leakage, making sure none of his jism was left uneaten or unswallowed. He grunted in satisfaction and let me go about my work. I heard the announcer on the TV saying there were ten minutes left in the first half.
He made me get up on the couch, lying down on my stomach with my head in his lap. With one hand, he massaged my back and shoulders (it was heaven) – he was so tall that he could reach my ass with ease and massaged me there as well. I spent this time kneading and caressing his cock and balls with both hands, licking him, every once in while taking his now-limp, but still bl**d-filled and engorged cock back into my mouth for a gentle sucking, trying to coax some life, minute by minute, back into Mr. B.'s limp and unresponsive tool.
The bird-team scored again and I got another harsh spanking – 17 strokes this time – I guess it was a different kind of touchdown – not a multiple of seven anymore. The Raiders scored again too, but Mr. B. couldn't fuck me yet as he was still 'recovering'. No matter, I was in heaven being massaged by his big strong hands, occasionally spanked lightly as well – and I had all the time in the world.
The half ended with another score and another spanking – before spanking me he took off my panties and made me put them in my mouth. Of course, they were absolutely soaked through and I bit down on my own juices as I counted to 24 spanks in my mind. He left me on the couch; still panty-gagged, saying he had to 'drain the main vein' as the television went to commercial.
As I lay naked on his couch, not daring to move, keeping my panties firmly clenched in my mouth, waiting for him to return, the curtains drawn and the room dim, the meaningless chatter on the television, dark thoughts raced through my brain – my mind felt like it was going at light speed. Over the past month I'd done a lot of reading on the Internet during my restless nights – (some of this BDSM stuff was WAY OUT THERE), as well as daydreaming about Mr. B. and remembering my three 'sessions' with him. What course had I put myself on? What were my limits? Would I ever refuse him? What if he had carried this football fantasy thing further – refused to stir from the couch during the entire football game, while downing a six-pack of beer (he'd gone through three beers in the first half). What if he'd decided to 'drain the main vein', as he'd so crudely put it, in another receptacle? I shivered in an involuntary reaction, not wanting to think about it.
When Mr. B. had finished his business in the bathroom, he came back in with another beer and sat down, grabbed the remote.
"Okay. I don't like watching the half-time show. I've got a tape in the VCR. I'm ready to have my cock sucked again, but I want you to stay on the couch so I can have access to that beautiful ass of yours while you blow me for a second time."
Another compliment! I had a great ass. I stared up at him, eyes wide, mouth filled with wet cotton, trying to smile. As he pulled out my panties, put them on the end table, I obediently lowered my mouth back around his now-recovered cock. He clicked the remote and the tape started.
And it was a FUCKING PORNO!
This was just too fucking much. Fine, I wanted him to make me into his sex-toy. Okay. But giving him a blowjob during a football game, with no real reward (just a little itty-bitty self-induced clit orgasm), getting spanked because some football team scored a touchdown, swallowing his cum and now being f***ed to give him a SECOND blowjob while he watched a PORNO! This juvenile male fantasy had gone too far. That was too much to expect from a woman, any woman (even an apparent slut like me). I was going to tell him what I thought.
But he anticipated my reaction (for some odd reason, since he'd already proven the last few weeks that he wasn't very intuitive during my blatant attempts at seduction). As I was lifting my head off his now-turgid prick, he grabbed me by the hair and f***ed me roughly back down on him.
"Don't even think about it, bitch. Don't lift that pretty little head of yours from my cock until I say so." He slapped the side of my cheek for good measure, shocking me more by the action, than by any pain it caused, into complete obedience, if only temporarily.
Not trusting me, he kept his hand firmly planted in my hair and he kept my head firmly planted on his dick, allowing me just enough space to minutely slide up and down the bottom half of his cock. He was just too strong. For good measure, he gave my ass several quick and f***eful swats with his other open palm until I accepted the situation and resigned myself to yet another humiliation.
My position on his couch, however, allowed me the opportunity to both suck his cock and watch the porno at the same time. Once he was convinced that I wasn't going to give him any lip and had settled into this new blowjob, he eased up the pressure on the back of my skull. By tucking my head against his belly and pulling his dick back slightly (it was long enough), I could alternate watching the porno with glancing down at the object of my oral devotion every once in a while.
The porno looked to be an old one – and with a BDSM theme. I had missed the credits during my brief attempt at rebellion and it was already into the first scene. A masked man was pulling a tall, longhaired brunette out of the trunk of an old-model car. She was handcuffed. He took her into a garage and tied her hands overhead to some sort of pulley – she was gagged. Once naked, I was treated to the sight of a spectacular bush – I guess a trimmed cunt was definitely NOT in fashion in the late 70's or early 80's – whenever the video owned by this sick fuck with his stiff prick stuffed inside my sore mouth was made. By the time the video faded out, she'd been stretched, stripped and whipped.
The second scene was different. This time a busty red-head let a masked man into her house, gave him some money (gave HIM some money?) and then he proceeded to tie her first into a hogtie, then to a chair and finally standing up with her hands over her head – at some point she ended up naked with a gag in her mouth too – making sure to spank her on a regular basis while in these three positions. Just as he began to fuck her, that scene ended as well. Kind of strange – no sex yet in the first two scenes. Mr. B. was definitely hard inside my mouth. I was kind of excited by this point.
The third scene was another longhaired brunette, this time at a cabin in the forest. Her assailant this time didn't have a mask on, but he still tied her elbows behind her back (I remembered how that feels), before tying her, standing up, to a single porch post. He eventually spread her legs apart and tied them off to two posts and then finally against the entire elevated porch railing where he whipped her tits and pussy good with a doubled-over piece of rope! Pretty fucking hot, if I do so myself (although I couldn't say anything at the moment, my mouth, as usual, stuffed full of cock). Again, just as he'd tied her down to fuck her, on her back with her legs tied high to the two porch posts, the scene ended. Damn! Cheesy porno music, no dialogue, no sex, but some hot bondage and punishment! My ass was hot under Mr. B.'s stern hand, my pussy was wet and my mouth was stretched over what felt like a steel pole! I could feel myself drifting into a familiar haze of lust.
#4 did me in. It was a shorthaired blonde, a little busty, in a body-sleeve and hot-pink shorts. Just as she pulled her cycle into the garage and closed the door (what kind of stupid bitch rides a motorcycle in that get-up), a guy with a stocking on his head jumped her. After tying her hands to an overhead hook, taping her mouth shut and stripping her naked (another untrimmed bush), he put her tits into some sort of complicated bondage that had them completely encircled in rope and bulging out like a couple of large g****fruits. Oh My God! He topped it off with a couple of clothespins on her nipples and then hung her upside down from the same fucking hook, still tit-tied and clothes-pinned, before whipping her with another folded-over piece of rope. Now I knew where my boss was getting some of his evil ideas. And how many more things could be done to me! I was both scared and couldn't wait to have some of the stuff I was seeing done to me!
Wow! I had fantasy material for a few months now in just a few short minutes. I'd also had a short, intense, and even slightly satisfying orgasm from Mr. B.'s insistent finger sliding up and down my sopping gash while I made desperate efforts to hump back and forth against his hand. As my body shuddered in release, Mr. B. lifted my head off his cock with one hand and had me clean off his pussy-slimed fingers before unceremoniously shoving me back down onto his lap and his ultra-stiff cock.
This went on for a long time, scene after scene – no drop-off in quality. It was apparent that this was a best-of collection that my psycho boss had prepared, as there was some white noise between some scenes and some sharp cut-offs at the end of others. The women were uniformly in dated clothing, the bondage was pretty severe and hot – lots of suspension (would he suspend me by my hands or feet at some point?), lots of breast-bondage, lots of clothes pins and nipple clamps, lots of spanking and improvised rope-whipping – no fucking (aarrgghh!) – all accompanied by a few more orgasms from me, interspersed with the constant and low-level spanking I was receiving from Mr. B.
By the time the scene ended with the secretary who was tied to her desk and being spanked (I don't know how many scenes later – and that scene brought back some memories), I was so hot and wanton that I was voluntarily spearing myself down on Master's cock (did I just write Master? – it must have been all that Internet reading) begging with my throat for another load of jism. I was actually pretty close to getting him all the way in, I was so oblivious to my own comfort. How could he deny me under these circumstances – watching some of the hottest porno (even though it was dated) that I'd ever seen, with a red-assed girl on his cock who already had a huge load of jism being absorbed through her digestive system. It wasn't fair.
Just when I was about to throw the whole thing up as a bad job, he gave me one last hard spank and f***ed me to my hands and knees in front of him. Pushing my shoulder blades until I'd laid my head on the carpet in front of him, he speared me hard from behind and there I crouched – ass up, head down, legs spread, bottom hot and red and sore and ready. I was in heat. I was ready. I started coming. I relished each time his hips struck my ass, signaling that he'd bottomed out in me. He set a hard and fast pace, which was fine with me. I didn't want any tenderness now.
And so, with the porno secretary getting spanked (but not fucked – strange that this BDSM montage had no fucking) on the small screen and the real-life secretary getting spanked and fucked like a bitch in heat, Mr. B. rode me hard and fast until he'd come for a second time that day, but this time in my cunt and not my mouth. It was wonderful and fucking hot at the same time. Of course, I came a few times, great big orgasms, ones that I hadn't experienced in a month. I was in heaven.
When it was over, I turned around and cleaned both my own juices and his juices off his cock like a good girl should. He'd flipped back to the game and it was the middle of the fourth quarter. I didn't know who was ahead and didn't care; I just kept fondling and suckling my favorite cock.
He was more interested in the game, though, and, after having me fetch him another beer, got annoyed with my oral ministrations. He put me in a quick hogtie and left me on the floor at his feet. I tried to say something to him, but he didn't want to hear it and placed my panties back into my mouth, before zipping his fly back up and switching his full attention to the football game. I was annoyed at the needless humiliation of being tied up and ignored like this, but too tired, too exhausted (and too happy) to really care that much.
He left me like that for a long time – I might have dozed off at his feet for a while. The next thing I knew, he was loosing me from his hogtie and directing me back to the bedroom. He used my body the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. I ended up with his cock back in both my mouth and my pussy and had more orgasms, but always accompanied by, or resulting from, more sexual pain. Of course, he didn't let my breasts go unpunished and concentrated on them that evening, pinching, clamping, slapping, biting and otherwise abusing my breasts and nipples.
Suffice it to say that I left Mr. B.'s house that evening (around nine o'clock or so), fucked well, sore all over, feeling totally objectified and completely happy.
I'd entered his house at 1:00 pm hoping to recapture some of the feelings I'd experienced a month ago and, after a football game, a porno-fest, a lot of cock-sucking, several spankings, some nipple torture, an ass-fuck and what felt like 10 or 15 orgasms, I knew I'd be back for more.
"Be sure to get yourself a football schedule for the rest of the season. The games come on at different times and I don't want to have to remind you each week what time to be here," Mr. B. said off-handedly as I was leaving.
"Yes, Mr. B. I'll be sure to do that," I replied shyly, feeling a last glow of internal satisfaction and pleasure, before leaving.
Our 'relationship' was set – I had orders to come back – I just had to figure out how to influence the course of that relationship to my satisfaction.